How Does Your Garden Grow
by Ageless Drake
Summary: Six years after the Ultimecia Incident, Irvine Kinneas is living it easyhe's an Instructor of Marksmanship and Sharpshooting, and has boatloads of pretty girls. But when one student decides she can't take his attitude, Irvine's happygolucky world gets tu
1. Chapter 1

_But seduction isn't making someone do what they don't want to do. Seduction is enticing someone into doing what they secretly want to do already._

_—Waiter Rant_

Chapter One

There was something absolutely delicious about knowing that people took his classes because they wanted to look at him. It was gratifying, a stroke to his ego—which, as Zell Dincht was always saying, didn't _need_ any stroking—and all in all quite satisfying to his pride.

It also meant he had a wide variety of willing young ladies who liked to come by after class for 'tutoring'.

Today's recipient was a petite bottle-blonde—he'd only been a little disappointed to learn she dyed—with generous, bouncing breasts and wide, pouty lips. Those lips had been painted red when she'd come in, but that lipstick had quickly been smeared over his own lips, his chest and stomach, and then his cock.

He wondered if there were any adverse side affects to fucking somebody while you had their lipstick all over your cock. Later, he'd have to check up on that. Yes. i Later /i . Now was time to be watching the girl on his lap, lifting her gently and meeting her settling strokes with sharp, hard thrusts. She made a soft little noise every time he did that, throwing her head from side to side and exposing her neck to his lascivious kisses.

She came with a soft little cry, biting her bottom lip and clenching all around him. It was hard not to come in her, but he managed it, just barely. Pulling her off his lap, he set her on his office desk and stood before her as she began to do up her bra and uniform shirt, jerking his cock quickly as he leaned into her a little.

She giggled, softly whispering into his ear, "Don't stain my blouse, Instructor Kinneas. My roommate will start to ask questions."

"Your roommate . . . that's Aida Cummins, right?" The girl nodded softly. He chuckled and bit the girls' ear roughly, telling her, "She's in my homeroom. Ever wondered why she came in so late on Thursdays?"

"Study hall," the girl gasped as he worried his teeth against her earring.

"Study hall," he growled back at her, spitting the small stud onto his desk. It had become something of a ritual, to take little trinkets like that from the girls he fucked. They never seemed to mind.

She leaned against him a little, rubbing her firm, naked stomach against the head of his cock. He hissed softly, moving his hand a bit faster.

He was going to stain her blouse. She knew it. She even moved into it a little, sliding off the desk and crouching just a little so his come hit her chin and dribbled down her neck to taint her breasts and make her shirt a little transparent.

As he chuckled and fell back into his desk chair, he told her, "You should get going before that dries."

"Same time next week, Instructor Kinneas?" She drew her finger through the come on her chest, smearing it over her lips like lip gloss. He grinned and winked at her cheekily as she stepped out of the classroom.

He had papers to grade. Straightening himself up, he grabbed the stack of tests he'd given the day before, and began that tedious task.

After what felt like days—it was probably closer to an hour and a half—his door slid open. Expecting his next 'tutoring' session, he slid back in the chair, and smiled genially at . . .

At _not_ Leena Worthily, but a very stormy looking Squall Leonheart, arm crossed vindictively over his uniformed chest and scowl turned to top notch. The flirty smile turned into a shy, sheepish grin and he stood up quickly, straightening himself out and hoping he didn't have anything left over from—.

"You have some lipstick on your neck, Kinneas."

Irvine swiped at it quickly, blushing a little. Squall sighed in exasperation and took the chair set across from Irvine's desk. He crossed his legs stiffly and just stared at Irvine for a very long, very _awkward_ couple of minutes.

"So," Irvine finally simpered, trying a cheeky smile. "What brings you down to my room?"

"Zell was complaining about his students being late. Said most of them were coming from your room. Said a lot of them were female students."

"Bah," Irvine scoffed, laughing a little. _That's right, Kinneas. Laugh it off._

Squall wasn't buying it. He leaned forward, flipping through some of the loose papers on Irvine's desk. He discretely grabbed the earring sitting on his desktop and tucked it into his uniform pocket.

Nothing was discrete when Squall was around. Sharp gunmetal eyes narrowed in annoyance, and he held out his hand for Irvine's trinket.

After several moments pinned under that stare, Irvine handed over the earring, already quickly excusing, "Miss Ganover took them off while we were practicing our posture in class today. All the girls leave their jewelry with me. She must have missed it."

Squall took the earring and tucked it into his own pocket. He stood then, looking around the office slowly as he planted his hands firmly on Irvine's desk.

_Aw crap._

Slowly, Squall leaned in, until he was within a breath of Irvine's nose. He stayed there for several long moments before growling darkly, "You're a terrible liar Kinneas."

"Actually—."

"Don't talk. I want you in my office in twenty minutes, Kinneas. And if you're not there, I'm going to have Zell i drag /i you there. And Zell's not too attentive. I wouldn't be surprised if he failed to get your ass through the door all the way and something gets stuck . . ." He trailed off threateningly.

Irvine blinked at him in close range, and quietly said, "But they ope—."

"Not if I have a say in that."

The earring came back out of Squall's pocket, and landed with a painful sounding slap between them. Irvine managed to contain his flinch for the most part, but he swore he saw the tiniest of smirks lighting Squall's features as the slightly older man straightened, turned away, and marched out of the room as if nothing had ever happened.

Ten minutes later, Leena Worthily was told to reschedule her 'tutoring' for some time . . . later. He didn't say when, just handed her Marissa Ganover's earring, told Leena to give it to her, and hurried his way out of the office.

* * *

If Irvine had thought Squall alone was threatening, he had obviously never spent any time with vindictive young female professors from Balamb Garden—which was a lie, but he'd never spent any time with them when they'd been vindictive _at him_, which was an entirely different matter than being vindictive _in his presence._

Squall was seated comfortably behind his desk, half turned away from the door, sorting through a strangely thick manila folder with a look of stern consternation etched across his features. Quistis Trepe stood at the left end of the desk, speaking quietly with one of Irvine's various female students; Selphie Tilmet stood on the right end, looking utterly scornful and breathlessly callous.

When Squall turned towards the door, his scowl returned to that deep setting. Irvine felt his stomach drop to his toes, and he stepped very slowly up to the desk. He tried not to notice that his student was staring at him with this disgusted look in her pretty brown eyes, tried not to look over at Selphie, knowing that wouldn't do any good.

**_She told you this would happen_**, some gloating little voice which sounded suspiciously like Diablos grumbled in the back of his head. **_She said that if you kept thinking with your dick, it would get you in trouble._**

_Oh, shut up._ He didn't have anything clever to say to those truths.

For a moment, Squall just stared at him. It was uncomfortable, being under all those eyes. He shifted his gloves with his thumbs unconsciously.

Abruptly, Squall gestured at the student standing at Quistis' hip. "You can go now, Miss Norton."

"But I—."

"Your complaints have been noted, Miss Norton. Now, if you'll excuse us, this is for the Instructors and myself only. You may return to class."

"Yes, Commander Leonheart." The girl scurried out of the room, pitching worried glances over her shoulder at them.

Long after the door had closed, Squall sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaning back in his chair. After a moment, he looked sidelong at Quistis and asked, "Do we even _have_ an explicit disciplinary rule against Instructors having relations with their students?"

"Galbadia does," she offered helpfully. He nodded and closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. It was unnerving, having them talk around him like he wasn't even there.

"And those rules entail—?"

"—the Instructor in question having their genitalia ripped off by a behemoth?" Irvine found himself grimacing, not just at the thought, but also at the genuine _hurt_ lacing Selphie's angry words. He knew that she was still tender about their breakup, knew the matter of his infidelity with her stretching into his bachelorhood wore on her nerves.

Still, that comment was just _mean_.

"I believe the action actually involves an immediate expulsion and arrest of the Instructor." Quistis shrugged nonchalantly under Irvine's incredulous, gaping stare. Squall hummed over the idea; Irvine's gaze snapped immediately to him, and a nervous, insane little laugh broke his otherwise calm facade.

"You can_not_ be serious."

"Kinneas," Quistis began rigidly. Irvine _remembered_ that voice, from when they were very small and the rest of them would get too rowdy or obnoxious. She continued with that same rigid frost in her voice: "You have sexually assaulted at _least_ sixteen students. And those are just the young women—."

"Hey!"

"—and you _really_ think we're going to let you off with a slap on the wrist?" She scoffed harshly, rolling her eyes at him. "What, it wasn't enough you had one girl at your beck and call, you had to toss her aside for your _students_ who let you fuck them for an A?"

"Now wait just a goddamn _minute_ here!" Irvine snapped, whirling on Quistis with righteous anger in his eyes. "Okay, I'm a pig, right? But this has _nothing_ to do with my student's academic performance!"

He realized, much too late, that those were _not_ the words he'd meant to say. But, even as he was turning to quickly remedy those swift and hurtful words, Selphie was beginning to get that hitch in her breathing that she always got right when she was about to cry.

"Sephie," he murmured, reaching for her. "Sephie, I—."

"You _go to Hell_," she snarled as tears began to drip down her cheeks. "You go to Hell and _you die_!" She started off towards the door with angry mumbles. Quistis growled darkly behind Irvine. And what would have been a rather calm and peaceable convergence dissolved into a match of snapped and shouted swears.

"Both of you, _stop it_!" Squall finally snarled, standing quickly and slapping heavy hands on the thick desk top. Selphie let out a hiccoughing sob, slowing only a little on her way to the door. It opened just as Irvine peered at her curiously through his bangs. She gave one final huffing cry, and stormed passed Zell, standing in the doorway.

For a minute, there was an all consuming silence, before Zell shut the door and asked, "Besides the _obvious_, what did I just miss?"

* * *

"I don't want to have to do it," Squall said quietly, long after Quistis and Zell had left to instruct their classes. Irvine grunted noncommittally from where he sat with his back to Squall's desk. "You're a good Instructor. We don't have anybody else on staff with your talents, and it will be at least two more years before any of your students graduate—."

"Thanks for making me feel like a novelty T-shirt, Leonheart," Irvine grumbled, picking at a broken nail. He sighed, thumping his head against the desk a few times.

After a moment, Squall murmured, "Don't break my desk." There was half a smile in those words. Irvine scoffed a little, but stopped his head from bouncing against the desk. There was a silence expect for the scratch of Squall's pen for some time.

"You knew I was doing it."

"Yeah." It hadn't been a question, but Irvine just shrugged a little at Squall's immediate answer.

"So why wait until _now_ to do anything about it?"

"Meya Gordon complained about your advances towards her." Irvine went through his roster for a moment, trying to match the name to a face. It took a while to match that tearful face from earlier to the bright, smart sniper-hopeful with gun oil on her cheek to the name, Meya Gordon.

He turned, rose to his knees, and peered across the desk at Squall. "I never made advances on her. She's a good marksman. I offered her some special lessons in proper sniping, but—oh." He sat back down then, clucking his tongue against his teeth.

Squall quietly asked, "What?"

"I'm always offering to tutor the other girls. But those girls are in because they _want_ me to make advances on them. Gordon's actually i good /i at what she does." He lifted himself back up and said, "If you do fire my ass, make her an Instructor as quick as possible. She'll do good."

"I'll keep that in mind." But from his voice, Irvine figured his recommendation was as good as null. He kept watching Squall for a while, arms crossed on the desktop and head pillowed on his sleeves. After a while, Squall sighed and pondered, "Yes?"

"I didn't make an advance on Gordon."

"I believe you."

"No you_don't_," Irvine gritted. Squall put down his pen slowly and sighed, pillowing his chin on his interlaced fingers. "Face it. You think I wanted to fuck her as much as anybody else in this damn Garden."

"You're right. I do." Irvine's face fell a little in disbelief. "But," Squall quickly continued, "I do believe that you do have some measure of self-control hidden away in you, and that you would extend that self-control when it came to something you truly cared about."

"Like, apparently _not_ my job?" Irvine rolled his eyes. Squall sighed.

"I never said that. I'm agreeing with you: you didn't want to sleep with Miss Gordon." He paused there, then quietly admonished, "That doesn't mean you're getting off the hook for the fifteen other young women you sexually assaulted."

"They were all legal," Irvine offered helplessly. Squall half-rolled his eyes and shook his head a little.

"They're _students_, Kinneas. And you're their teacher. Whether they were consenting, whether they were of legal age, doesn't matter. It's an abuse of authority. And we can't allow that in Garden."

"Yeah, yeah."

"It wouldn't have been any better in Galbadia." Irvine groaned and slid back down the desk. He thought he heard Squall chuckle a little at his misfortune.

"Don't remind me. I _grew up_ there. You have no idea how many times I had to try and weasel my way out of detentions and expulsions and . . . actually, I didn't have to weasel my way out of too many." He scoffed a little. "Martine made sure of that."

"Martine? Wasn't that Galbadia's Headmaster?"

"My adoptive father, before Mom and he broke up." Irvine chuckled humorlessly. "Made sure I was always treated well. I suppose this is what I get from all _I_ learned in school." They fell into a silence then, broken by Squall's pen.

After quite some time, Squall tapped his papers on his desk, set them onto a tray, and quietly said, "At least you had one. A father."

"No, I had _Martine_." Irvine stood as Squall collected his things. "And besides, you have Loire, right?" To that, Squall rolled his eyes. But he was smiling a little, as though that small admonishment was all he needed to remind him that, Yeah, he had it better than most of the orphanage gang.

"Are you going to follow me all the way to my room?" Squall asked as they stepped out of the office and strode towards the elevator. Irvine took his hat off and messed with it absently as he chuckled nervously.

"Am I invited? Or is Rinoa over to throw a shit-fit all over me too?"

"She's in Timber this month." They stepped into the elevator together, and Squall pressed for the first floor as Irvine leaned nonchalantly against the wall. "I'm thinking of giving her a room of her own."

"I'm sure she'll be pleased with that," Irvine said sarcastically. Squall just gave Irvine a sharp little look; he held up his hands defensively as the door dinged for the first floor and they stepped out into the mostly dark concord.

They walked through the halls in an amiable silence, until they drew close to Squall's door. He turned to Irvine—it was still amusing to see him stare up at him—and scowled a little.

"Go away."

"I'm going."

"_Now_," Squall snapped. Irvine rolled his eyes a little, shook his head, and stepped around Squall.

As Squall punched in his code, Irvine half turned and said, "I'd think you were scared I'd make a move on you."

"You wish." And he stepped into his room without a look at Irvine's surprised expression.


	2. Chapter 2

_One should always have one's boots and be ready to leave_

_—Michel de Montaigne_

Chapter Two

The Exeter's recoil was something he'd long since gotten used to, but after the seventh downed T-rexuar, he knew his shoulder was going to be stiff as hell by the time classes started up. But that really didn't matter, if he was sore or not. Besides, he figured a shoulder covered in bruises would be a fitting punishment for actually getting _caught_.

A grat flitted across the scenery of the training center, just out of the corner of his eye, and Irvine ignored the indignant strain of his muscles to take a pot shot at it and have it turn towards him. It would be a quick fight, but he figured he might get something good out of it. Something better than a bruised shoulder and protesting arm.

"Are you actually _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

Zell's stern, slightly humored voice was followed by the warm rush of magic through Irvine's veins. The bruises on his shoulder ceased their tired ache and his head cleared of its tired fog. The grat fell with one powerful, angry shot.

Irvine turned the Exeter's barrel on Zell, frowning a little. Zell, cocky as ever, planted his hands on his hips and cock a brow at the redhead.

"Go ahead. I'm sure Quisty will love another excuse to get your ass canned."

Irvine actually _thought_ of cocking his rifle. Instead, he brought it down in a long sweep, then with a sigh balanced it over his shoulders, looping his elbow over the barrel.

"Why are you here?"

"Just making sure you weren't shooting yourself in the foot for _real_ this time." Zell was bouncing on the balls of his feet then, hands up in an offensive posture. He smiled a little, half-falling into that normal, cocky posture. "If you ditch the gun, I'll be a better fight than any of the monsters."

"If I ditch the gun," Irvine contended, "you'd wipe the floor with my ass, Dincht."

"Ooh, surname." There was a laugh in his voice. "You must be really pissed about that Gordon girl ruining all your fun." The rifle came back up, close-range this time, and Irvine did cock the piston it, giving Zell a stormy look. Zell smirked. "Hit a nerve, I see. Put the gun down before you hurt yourself, Irvy."

Despite his anger, Irvine did lower the Exeter. He sighed, shoulders slumping, and sat heavily on the side of the path. Zell watched him for a second, before stepping over and sitting beside him on the huge stump he'd claimed. Irvine buried his face in his hands, grumbling morosely under his breath; Zell bumped his shoulder, and offered a consoling smile.

"You're a good Instructor," he offered. "If Quisty does get you canned, you can always go to, like, Trabia or something."

"The other Gardens wouldn't hire me."

"You could talk to Laguna about helping train the Esthar army." Irvine cringed at that. Since the Ultimecia incident, Laguna had been pestering all of them to come help with his meager volunteer army. After seven months of it, Squall had threatened to have him shot if he was spotted near Balamb Garden; Laguna had i laughed /i , but dutifully kept his requests quiet and mostly in the form of audio messages and letters addressed to them personally.

Zell chuckled at the no doubt sour expression concerning that proposal. He hummed for a second, before smiling softly and saying, "Matron was saying she wanted to have a school to go with the orphanage. You could help there."

Irvine stared at his fingers dully for a second before sighing. He gave Zell a pressed grin and thanked him quietly, before grabbing the Exeter, and pointedly walking away from the tattooed blond.

* * *

Irvine supposed it wouldn't be so bad, going back to teaching after a brief hiatus, if it weren't for the fact that Quistis showed up after every class to escort the girls en mass out of the classroom and to the first floor concord. Really, it was entirely unnecessary: he'd been exercising absolutely spectacular self-control, declining any approach from a female student—and, surprisingly, quite a few male ones, just to keep himself safe—for any 'tutoring' outside of class.

For the most part, he just tried to keep to himself. It had gotten around, somehow, that Squall and the rest of the Instructors had Irvine on something of a probation, and it was unnerving to walk through any of the facilities and have quiet murmurs following him around. He'd noted, a week after he returned to teaching duties—Squall contested, when Selphie and Quistis protested, that they couldn't _afford_ not to have him teach, with SeeD exams coming up and everything—that he was turning into something of a hermit.

And that, more than Quistis escorting his female students out of his class, pissed him the hell off. The Training Center became a common haunt for Irvine, working out frustrations with the situation all around; and when he wasn't there or in classes, he was sequestered in his room, wondering when the other shoe would fall.

He finished grading the last test from that day, disgusted with the average score of the class, and tucked them into a drawer as he grabbed his hat and gun and stepped around his desk to leave the room.

The door swished open just as he was adjusting his hat, and he found himself bumping into a firm, delicate female body. With a mild curse on his lips, he steadied the young woman, tilting his hat back to see who he'd jostled.

His hands flinched back instantly from Meya Gordon's elbows, and he took several safety-inducing steps back, before summoning a genial smile that he hoped she wouldn't take the wrong way.

"Miss Gordon," he greeted gently. "How can I help you? I was just about to head out, but if you're concerned about something—."

"Commander Leonheart told me you wanted me considered for your post, should you be . . . excused." Irvine cringed a little. _Thanks Squally_, he mentally grumbled. Self-consciously, he removed his hat, and began to mess with the band on it.

"Ah, yes. I told him that."

"Why, Instructor Kinneas?" Her voice got hard. "Do you think you'll _get_ something out if it?

_Dammit_. "Miss Gordon, I told the Commander that I wanted you considered because you're a competent marksman who would make an excellent Instructor. I realize that your perception of me is . . . marred by my—my . . ." He fished for the word aggressively.

"Liaisons?" the young student offered. He gave her a sharp little look, but accepted the aid nonetheless.

"_Liaisons_ with the other female students, but I assure you that my interest in your continued excellence is not part and parcel with my wanting to _sleep_ with you." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized he had said them wrong.

But only because her mouth fell open a little and her eyes looked just about ready to bug out of her skull. He swore.

He tried again: "Look. You're good. End of story. I want to i actually /i tutor you, as in, show you how to be better than you already are. Not sleep with you. I don't want to sleep with you!"

That expression wasn't going away. He swore again, slammed his hat onto his head, and pulled the brim down far enough that it mostly concealed his gaze, before gritting out a gruff, "I'm going to go now," and stepping around the stunned young woman.

He was halfway to the corridor that led to the northern elevator when he heard her running up behind him. When he turned, he expected a hasty and strong verbal abuse.

Instead, she handed him his practice rifle, her eyes diverted.

"You left it in the classroom," she said gruffly. He took it slowly from her, looking it over. Then, without a word, he handed it back to her. She looked up, quietly saying, "Sir—?"

"I was given that gun by a Galbadian soldier, when I was an aspiring sharpshooter. Figure it's only fair to hand it down. Legacy, you know?" He looked at her, tried to summon a cheeky grin but succeeded in more of a grimace. "Take good care of her, when you get my post."

He turned away from her, and began to walk again.

Later, when he lay on his bed staring at his ceiling and swearing himself blue, he realized he'd wanted her to apologize for jeopardizing his career. Had that been why he'd given her the gun? In hopes of _bribing_ an apology out of her? It wasn't as if she could retract her harassment charge or something; his job would still be hanging in the balance, apology or no.

The tone of his call-button made him cease his swearing. He stood sluggishly, shuffling through his tiny Instructor's apartment toward the door. As he door swished open, he decided he needed to talk to somebody in mechanics about getting his tone changed; it was i annoying /i .

Zell stood on the other side, leaning against the door and ready to press the call-button a third time. He looked up and smiled at Irvine.

"Can I come in?"

"No. I'm having a pity party. What do you want?"

"Squall's callin'." Irvine rolled his eyes with a groan, grabbed his hat from the small cabinet beside the door, and stepped out into the hall. Zell fell into step just behind his shoulder, silent and perhaps a little ominous.

Irvine twitched a gaze over his shoulder at the blond, and finally asked, "Did he _ask_ you to escort me?"

"No. But I figure he wanted me to anyway."

"Goodie."

"Sheesh. If I had known not gettin' laid turned you into such an utter _bitch_, I would have convinced Squall to ignore Gordon's complaint." Irvine stopped, held very still for a moment, and brought his elbow up into Zell's gut as he kept walking. The blond grunted, but didn't buckle, just glared up at him.

"Just . . . _don't_." They kept walking.

The ride in the elevator was utterly silent, and Squall's young secretary—a student—didn't even dare to look up when they stepped off the elevator. Zell hung back at her desk, talking with her amiably, and waved Irvine onward into Squall's office.

In the office, Squall was talking quietly with Rinoa Heartilly, but fell silent when Irvine stepped in. She continued on with whatever it was she was talking about for several seconds more, before turning and giving Irvine a cold once over.

Irvine was getting _really_ tired of that expression. From everybody. He huffed a little, and didn't even try to smile.

"Hey Rinoa. Back so soon? We were all kind of hoping it would rain while you were in Timber. And you would _melt_."

"Wow, Zell is right. You _do_ turn into a bitch when you aren't getting any sex." Squall, behind his desk, buried his face in his hands and shook his head. Irvine resolved to get Zell intimately acquainted with his steel-toed boots.

He turned his attention to Squall, very pointedly, and said, "I was busy. Are you actually going to fire me now, or am I getting another Talking To?"

"Rinoa," Squall muttered pointedly. She sighed, leaned over the desk, and gave him a peck on the cheek. "I'll talk to you tonight, alright?"

"Yeah." She stepped out of the room, and Irvine had a feeling it was only by Squall sheer charm that Rinoa didn't whip out the Cardinal and ensure that Irvine would stay in his apparently no-sex induced Bitch Fest mood.

It was several minutes of Squall staring powerful at Irvine in silence before the brunette rolled his eyes and asked, "Do I want to know what you were busy with?"

"I was having a _Pity Party_. How is that when I say 'I was busy' everybody instantly translates that to 'I was balls deep in something'?" It was one of those moments where he wished he could take the words back as soon as they were out of his mouth. Instead, he jabbed a finger towards Squall and grumbled, "Don't answer that."

He sat down with his back to Squall's desk, as had become his habit shortly after the Ultimecia incident, and waited for the brunette to start talking. There was only the intermittent scratch of his pen on paper, and the quiet, distant whir of the environmental system cycling into life.

Irvine began instead. "Why did you tell Gordon that I thought you should give her my post?"

"I thought she should have forewarning before she took the SeeD exams."

"Yeah, well, she came by today after class. Just so you know. Got all 'You want in my pants!' on me."

"And?"

"I gave her my practice rifle." Squall's pen stopped in the middle of what sounded to be a very long word. Irvine turned to look over the desk at him, and narrowed his eyes. "The _gun_ Not the euphemism."

"Whatever." He returned to writing. Irvine kept watching him, eyes narrowed, for several minutes, until Squall looked up and put his pen down.

"Why am I here?" he asked the brunette. Squall sucked on his tongue for a second, before actually looking away from Irvine.

"Quistis and I, along with several other Instructors, have decided it'd be best if we suspended you for a while. Until after SeeD exams are over, and everyone is settled."

"_Really_?" Irvine gritted. Squall gave him a sharp look, but Irvine just shook his head and sank back to his spot at the desk leg. "Whatever you think's best, Mr. Commander, _sir_."

"Kinneas, stop being a prick about this."

Irvine actually stood up, planted his hands on the desk, and leaned in real close to Squall, growling, "How do you expect me to act? Look, I know I fucked it all up, right? But now you're _kicking me out_ of the only place I've got—."

"Go stay with Matron. Go visit Galbadia. Just . . . _go_."

A nervous, insane little laugh broken through Irvine's lips. He shook his head a little and sighed.

"Do I get _pack_? Or is everything being '_arranged_' for me?"

"I'm doing you a favor, Kinneas."

"Okay. Sure. You tell yourself that." And he stepped out of Squall's office without another word or glance back.

* * *

They didn't tell him where to go, just dropped him off in Balamb and drove off. The sun gleamed through the smoke billowing from chimneys around the city, and the burble of life was a comforting one. One or two people looked his way, but thankfully, nobody looked long enough to recognize his face. He hurried along, stopping in the upper square, and looked out over the lower half of the city.

There were only so many places to go, really. Even with regular commutes between most of the major cities, the ships had already left for Fisherman's Horizon, and the trains only went to Timber from Balamb.

He had some spare gil in his pocket, though. At least for the night, he'd stay in the Balamb Hotel, and deal with everything else in the morning.

The young woman running the front desk smiled prettily at him, flirting shamelessly. Irvine found himself gnawing his lip after he'd ferried himself to his room, wondering if it was worth the trouble of going back downstairs to invite her up to his room.

On the tiny desk in the room, there was a vid-comm. He stared at it stupidly for a second, before dialing through to Squall's private line. He left a scathing, angry message when nobody picked up.

Then, without really thinking, he dialed the only other number he knew by heart.

A young man answered the phone and said in a too chipper voice, "Esthar Central, how might I patch you through?"

"I'm trying to reach the President," he told the receptionist quietly. The young man's smile dimmed a little as he slipped into a slightly more professional mood.

"I'm afraid the President cannot be reached at this time—."

"I know he's not in a meeting, so short of him being in the middle of having sex with somebody, you're going to tell him that it's Irvine Kinneas, and you're going to patch me through." The receptionist blinked owlishly at him for a moment, before nodding.

The screen went blank for a moment, before popping up on a very tired looking Laguna Loire, hair mussed and only half dressed.

"This had better be damn good, kid."

"I told your little receptionist boy not to patch me through if you were in the middle of fucking somebody."

"Language barrier, I'm telling you." He was straightening his hair out slightly, blinking away the sleep that clouded his eyes. After a moment, he sighed and asked, "What can I do for you, kiddo?"

"I'm in a bit of a pinch with your son and . . . _everybody_ at Balamb Garden."

"Hm. Did you fuck somebody you shouldn't have?"

Irvine sighed, dejected. "Yes."

"Did you fuck Rinoa?" Irvine cringed, giving Laguna a startled look; he chuckled, shrugging nonchalantly. "She looks like her mother. I wouldn't blame you."

"She's not my type."

"Yes, that's right. You like chipper, overly enthusiastic girls who want to blow everything to smithereens." Irvine just shrugged a little. Laguna sighed, giving Irvine a powerful look; he could see where Squall had gotten that particular gift. "So, how am I helping you, exactly?"

"I need a place to stay until this blows over."

"As in, you're running away from your problems, or—."

"Squall kicked me out."

"Lover's tiff," somebody off-screen grumbled, just loud enough to be picked up by Laguna's vid-comm. There was no mistaking the distinctive accent in that voice. Irvine gave Laguna a wide, predatory grin.

"_Really_."

"If you ever speak to my son again, you say nothing."

"That ashamed, are you?" Laguna shook his head helplessly, rolling his eyes.

"I'm on enough choppy water with him, I don't need him knowing I'm sleeping with one of my best friends."

Irvine chuckled and said, "I'm pretty sure he wouldn't care _who_ you were sleeping with, so long as it wasn't Rinoa. Are you going to help me out or not?"

"I'll have somebody pick you up in FH." Off-screen, there was a quiet question that sounded like 'Somebody is _me_, right?', and Irvine chuckled softly, shaking his head. Laguna looked ready to turn off the vid-comm.

"I'll see you in a couple of days, Uncle Laguna."

"Yeah, yeah, kid. Just don't piss anybody off while you're here, okay?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Blood is thicker than water; and friendship is thicker than both._

_—Unknown_

Chapter Three

Esthar, as always, was strangely cold and completely desolate. Still, Irvine figured it would be pleasant to spend time in the sprawling technological metropolis, even if it was under the mostly watchful eye of Laguna Loire and his advisers.

Kiros Seagill had been at FH, accompanied by a young gentlemen in full Esthar uniform except for mask, to pick him up just as Laguna had said. He'd smiled politely at Irvine, taken one of the thin luggage bags Irvine had with him, and climbed onto the train car they were taking to Seaside Station.

Irvine was treated as he had expected—the soldier dutifully ignored him, except to cast slow glances over him; and Kiros attempted quiet small talk with him, until he deemed it hopeless in the face of Irvine's silent moodiness.

At the station, they piled into a car with another soldier. Kiros was giving the two soldiers, seated in the front seat, harsh little glances, and Irvine found himself lifted from his mood a little.

He spoke in the quiet dialect of Galbadia and asked, "Are they always like this?"

"Like what?" Kiros asked in kind, glancing over at Irvine. He gestured at the two Estharin soldiers, a slightly amused smile on his lips.

"Completely avoidant of making eye contact. And traveling in packs."

"There have been some threats against Laguna's presidency lately. He wanted to make sure I—_we_ were safe." The slip up was fast but noticeable. Irvine offered a slightly larger smile to the dark skinned man.

"So," he pondered conversationally, "how long have you and Laguna been 'tween the sheets?"

"Is that really _any_ of your business?"

"Well, I _am_ going to be staying for at least a month. Wouldn't want to walk in on anythi—_ow_!" Irvine rubbed his scalp, rather indignant. He hadn't had anyone pull his hair since he'd begun growing it in his Galbadia Garden days. Kiros' face was still stoic and neutral. "Oh yeah. Real mature."

"We'll put a rubberband on the door so you don't walk in on anything."

"How many rubberbands will I find?"

"Depends what kind of mood I'm in." Irvine was sure that if he had been drinking something it would have shot out of his nose in indignant surprise. He gave Kiros a sharp look—awe mixed with some twisted, interested horror.

"But you're all . . . _old_ and shit. And you still—?"

"Really, Irvine," Kiros murmured, a smirk on his thin lips. The car entered the lift into the city. "It's none of your business."

* * *

"Hey kiddo."

Laguna gave him a surprisingly strong hug, and Irvine laughed softly despite himself, returning the embrace. It was a little sad and perhaps surprising, that at twenty-three the closest thing he had to a family was his orphanage friend's estranged father and his cohorts.

"You're looking good," Laguna said, pushing Irvine's bangs out of his eyes. "You're skinny though."

"And you aren't my dad," Irvine pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I tried it with my kid, and he just glares at me and threatens to have me shot." Laguna pouted a little.

Kiros, standing at his shoulder, chimed in, "You were getting annoying, Laguna. Like you are now. Let the boy breathe." Laguna chuckled nervously and took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck. He stepped away, saying something to the soldiers milling aimlessly about how he really _could_ escort their guest all by his lonesome.

Kiros, standing next to Irvine, smothered a bit of quiet laughter as Irvine made a small whip-snap noise at Laguna's back. He shook his head, smiling a little as he muttered, "You have _no_ idea."

The room they put him in was cold and impersonal, but that was alright. He'd stayed in Esthar enough times that he knew where the thermostat was, and it wasn't like was planning on moving in or anything; it would work for now, and was far enough away from the apartments of Laguna and his advisers that Irvine wouldn't have to worry about being _too_ quiet it he happened to meet a nice, easy Estharin girl.

It was several hours before he was 'settled'—his room raised to an appropriate temperature and his meager things tucked into the chest of drawers—when Kiros arrived and said, "Laguna wants you to have dinner with us."

"That's a nice way of saying he's gonna ask me to stay, isn't it?" Kiros just shrugged a little. Irvine sighed, grabbing his hat and stepping out into the hall to walk—and ride the inter-room lifts—in silence until they reached the personal dining room of the president.

Laguna had a circular table—and wasn't that just a prideful bit of furniture—and smiled as Irvine and Kiros stepped in. Ward sat on his left, followed by two young women; then Doctor Odine, talking animatedly with an older woman who sat exactly across from Laguna. There were three empty spaces between that woman and the spot that Kiros took directly to Laguna's right; Irvine took a spot across from one of the young women.

The girl smiled across the table at him, and he summoned a cheeky grin. She was clearly not Estharin by birth—Estharin women were very demure in nature, and this girl just had a _look_ about her. Her hair was a medium brown, escaping from under her headdress, and her eyes were pale green from a distance. She had freckles and a fair complexion, and spoke with the slightest of Trabian accents.

Laguna talked animatedly through dinner, making sure everyone was engaged at some point or another. When he got a bit fiery about whatever they were discussing, Kiros was subtle about calming him back down—he would touch his arm or give him a look, and Laguna would tone everything down. They were comfortable and easy; Irvine wondered, at some deep level he didn't like to admit to other people that it existed, if he'd ever have that easy camaraderie with someone else.

After dinner, as Irvine was retracing his steps back to his guest room, the Trabian girl found him. She smiled; she wasn't wearing her headdress, and sure enough her hair was a soft chocolate color, pinned back on the crown of her head prettily.

She asked him back to her apartment—as an Adviser, she had quite an extensive room set-up. He smiled, and let himself be guided back to her room.

And so, that night, he had to worry a little about who might hear them on that floor.

Under her formal outfit, she was a pale-skinned beauty with several tattoos and piercing in rather interesting locations that made him cock a brow and ask imploringly what had spurred _those_ ideas along. She just laughed and smiled, and kissed him like she was drowning. Irvine enjoyed kissing, perhaps more than he enjoyed a good blow-job, and this woman was a _good_ kisser.

She was also a screamer. Her nails bit into his shoulder as he played with her small breasts; and she made loud, airy noises as he fucked her, her legs rising to wrap around his legs and bring him closer.

Fingers busy as always, she came before him, and slumped tiredly, panting for breath. She grinned when he pulled her up and brought her face close to his cock; and proved that her kisses were _just_ as good as her blow jobs.

Sated, and in a much better mood than he had been in when he'd left Balamb, he waited until she had fallen asleep, before gathering together his clothing, dressing quickly, and stepping out into the hall.

Just a few steps away from the door, Laguna's easy, lightly accented voice sounded behind him: "Aren't you in _trouble_ for messing around with the wrong people, Irvine?"

Slowly, Irvine turned around, and found Kiros and Laguna both standing there, looking every bit like reprimanding parents that had found him sneaking in late. He grabbed his ponytail, playing with the very end of it, and excused lamely, "It was her idea."

"Yeah, well, you just fucked my Chief of Electricity," Laguna grumbled, tapping a foot and looking a little more than peevish. "And you did it _loudly_."

"Are you kicking me out too?" Irvine grumbled, feeling his elation slowly whisking away from him. Laguna shook his head, rolling his eyes a little.

"I'm not saying that," he said, staring at the floor for a second. He was absolutely silent, before looking at Kiros as though the darker man knew exactly how to say what he wanted to say; Kiros probably _did_ to.

And Kiros did: "Yammi has a fiancée. And a big mouth."

* * *

After three weeks, Irvine received a call from Quistis. She looked rattled, annoyed, and a little indignant over his vid-comm. Irvine, having just woken from a rather pleasant nap, stared at her for a second before asking as he rubbed his eyes, "Do I still have a job?"

"Maybe."

"That's not much of an answer," Irvine informed her, a bit more awake than he had been when he'd asked the question. He tried a different line; "Can I come back to Balamb Garden?"

"You're on probation."

"Well, _duh_. I take it I'm paying for my way back?"

"Of course." Of course. Squall wasn't a good enough person to wire a ticket to FH or Timber, so it would be on Irvine's dime to get back.

"How long do I have to get back?"

"A week. And Irvine?" He looked up from being ready to switch off the vid-comm, and cocked a brow. Quistis smiled a little and said, "Congratulations. You managed to actually teach someone to a level where they passed the SeeD exam."

"I did? It was Gordon, right? That girl's a genius."

"I know," Quistis agreed. She nodded resolutely, and said, "I'll see you soon Irvy. And try not to mess yourself up this time."

* * *

Three days after Quistis had informed him that his suspension was over, Irvine bid farewell to Laguna, Kiros and Ward, was driven to the Seaside Station, and caught a train going through FH to Timber, where he would connect for a second ride back to Balamb.

So, with three days before he was to be reinstated as an Instructor, Irvine dropped his things off in his tiny Instructor's apartments, and then hurried to the third floor to thank Squall profusely for not canning his ass.

It was after day-class hours, and Squall's secretary was just finishing up a few things before heading off to her night-classes. She smiled at Irvine gently and said, "Welcome back, Instructor Kinneas. Shall I tell Commander Leonheart you're here?"

"That'd be great . . . uh . . . Simione, right?"

"That's right, Instructor Kinneas!" the girl chimed, obviously very pleased that someone remembered her name. It was an unusual but pleasant name. He sat on the edge of her desk as she pressed her intercom, announced his arrival, and smiled when she looked back up at him.

"So, were you in this last exam?" She blushed a little.

"Yes, sir. I didn't make it, though."

"What were you doing this year?"

"A movement out in Centra. Their army has been a bit edgy about Timber's lately, and Miss Heartilly commissioned Commander Leonheart for some SeeD to help quell any issues between the two. Meya's out in Timber now; got stationed with a few boys to help make sure everything stays quiet."

"Sounds tough," he murmured consolingly. Simione nodded emphatically, and looked about ready to open her mouth and start talking again when the intercom buzzed and Squall said Irvine could come in. He smiled at the young secretary and said, "There's always next year. What weapon are you specializing in?"

"Hand-to-hand. Professor Dincht is _so_ cool." She got a bit dreamy-eyed as she said that, and Irvine chuckled.

Some small part of him wondered if Zell knew young Simione had a thing for him; he quashed that voice—and the resounding jealous decision that Squall wouldn't mind if _Zell_ slept with a student—and stepped into Squall's office just as the brunette was looking up from the papers on his desk.

"What was with the hold up? I'm not complaining; Simione's a great conversationalist, but I was beginning to think you had Rinoa back in here." Squall scowled a little and rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

"Wanna hear how my 'vacation' went?"

"Not particularly," Squall muttered, comparing something on his paperwork. Irvine sauntered over to the desk, and settled against the back leg, smiling at the door. It was nice to be back.

After a moment of quiet, he said, "Hey, I found out something _interesting_ about one Mr. Laguna Loire, President of Esthar."

"Really." Squall sounded perfectly uninterested with whatever Irvine had to tell him. Irvine laughed softly and nodded, even though Squall couldn't see him.

"Come out to dinner with me and I'll tell you what it is." Irvine wasn't entirely sure what made him say that. And apparently, from the scratching sound of Squall's pen abruptly stopping, the young Commander wasn't quite sure how to take it either. The redhead rotated around so he was looking over Squall's desk, meeting the brunette's surprised expression, and said, "Like, drinks or something. Two guy friends. Getting drinks."

"I'm . . . busy." It was a lame excuse, and it made Irvine cock a brow in question. It was common for Squall to rebel against ideas of social interaction, but it was rare for him to turn down cheap drinks—he was strange like that. Irvine sat up on his knees and crossed his arms on the desk. "Really. I have to review the reports for the SeeDs in Timber and—."

"Do them in the morning. C'mon. Just a couple of drinks." He pouted cutely, fluttering his eyelashes. "I've _missed_ you, Mr Commander, sir. _Indulge_ me."

"You're an ass."

"Yup! And you're going to come drinking with me."

And somehow, Irvine wasn't quite sure how, that appeared just the push Squall needed to step out from behind his desk.

An hour later—Squall wanted to change out of uniform, or he got funny looks in Balamb—they were sitting at a bar, ordered Galbadian ports and Squall was filling Irvine in on the exact details of the SeeD exam. It was, despite Simione's brief description, quite a bit harder than Irvine's had been—they're graduating class (Seifer included; he'd become a professor at Trabia Garden after his SeeD appointment) had been stationed out near Shumi Village, where they had been complaining of monsters left over from Time Compression terrorizing the merchants that came through.

After they were very heavily into their cups, Squall looked at Irvine skeptically and said, "You took me out drinking to _tell_ me something."

"Oh!" Irvine laughed softly, and smiled proudly at his bit of gossip. "So, after leaving you that _lovely_ audio message on your personal line—."

"Rinoa threw a fit at how much you swore."

"Goodie for her—anyway, I call Laguna, right, because I don't have anywhere else to go, and not enough gil to get down to Matron's orphanage, so. Yeah. So I call—cute little receptionist; really blue eyes—and he patches me through—."

"Wait,_he_?" Irvine blinked at Squall's confusion.

"Yeah. It was a guy. Twenty, maybe nineteen. Not Estharin, wasn't dressed like one either. Really tan, really blue yes, good face. Nice shoulders."

"You . . . like guys?" Squall seemed totally surprised by this, but Irvine just stared at him evenly.

Then, after a moment, he said, "Squally. Have you _met_ me?"

"Right," Squall muttered, as though he understood perfectly now. He took a drink of his port, and encouraged Irvine to keep talking. The redhead inclined his head in mock thanks, cleared his throat, and took another drink.

"Anyway," he continued as he set his tankard down. "He patches the call through, and Laguna—obviously sexed, obviously _just_ woken up—answers the vid-comm. We talk-talk-talk for a while, when: oh who is that I hear in the background? A _man_?"

Squall's face blanched a little. Irvine grinned, leaned his elbow on the bar and waggled his brows a little. "Wanna guess who?"

"Kiros?"

"On the _nose_, my pretty friend! _Kiros_ and your _dad_ are 'tween the sheets. At _least_ five times while I was at the palace. And once in Laguna's office, which totally wigged me out."

"Huh." Squall looked contemplative for a moment, before shrugging. "I'd wondered . . ."

"Really? I didn't. Even when we were all . . . in their _heads_ and shit, I never even got a vibe off either of them as being all comfy cozy."

"They _aren't_." Irvine snorted a little, drawing an askance look from Squall.

"They're pretty lovey-dovey, actually. I'm kinda jealous." Irvine shrugged, tracing a water-stain on the bar top. "Anyway. That's my gossip. Think we're ready to go back?"

* * *

He wasn't entirely sure how it happened. Perhaps everything in their friendship had been a prelude to it, but it was still surprising, even full of alcohol and mirth, to have Squall kiss him lightly on the mouth and pull him into his room by the hem of his vest.

When they woke the next morning, Irvine was pleasantly sore and warm, wrapped in strong, wiry arms. It was only the third time he'd woken up with a man in bed with him, but that morning he had no reason to be skeptical and full of wrath. After all, it wasn't his bed.

Squall was just waking up when Irvine stepped out of the shower with a towel around his waist, looking around for his clothes.

"Irvine?"

"Have you seen my pants?"

"Desk chair," Squall said with an absent gesture towards the dark jeans. He was watching Irvine with carefully guarded eyes while Irvine pulled on the jeans and found the rest of his clothing. "Irvine?" And Irvine made a soft noise as he shrugged into his vest, encouraging Squall. "What did we do last night?"

Irvine stopped his dressing and looked over at Squall with one brow cocked curiously. Still, Squall kept watching him with that perturbed and slightly worried expression.

Irvine couldn't keep the laughter in, even if it was a rather hateful laugh.


	4. Chapter 4

_Don't ever slam a door. You may want to go back._

_—Don Herold_

Chapter Four

After the SeeD exam, there was a week break, and then classes were back in session. Irvine was only too glad to be back to teaching. Many of his students from before his suspension were back—those that had been in the exam hadn't passed—and was he looked over the class, he frowned a little bit.

He settled back against the desk in his classroom, and proclaimed, "In one week's time, we're have an exam." Several people groaned or swore, and he held up his hands defensibly. "I'm an Instructor. My job, as such, is to teach you something and to make SeeDs out of you. Even Level 1 SeeDs. I've had _one_ student from my classes graduate in the three years I've been an Instructor. And I can't afford that any longer.

"So, in a weeks time, we're going on a field exercise, and we'll see how many of you actually have what it takes to become marksmen." He looked around at all those aspiring faces, and finished, "For now, I suggest you study."

For the hour, that was all there really was: the constant click of computer keys at the consoles, and the occasional question from one of the students. When the bell rang for the hour and he dismissed them with an assignment to spend at least two hours that night in the Training Center with their shooting partner, he settled back behind his desk, and rifled through tests he'd given in his advanced Sniping class.

There were suddenly hands with red-painted nails sitting on his paperwork. Hands with red nails attached to long, willowy arms, attached to the attractive body of Marissa Ganover. Irvine gulped, staring at the long, snowy line of her neck, and offered a smile that was truly pressed.

"What can I do for you, Miss Ganover?"

"I'm not sure, Instructor," the young bottle-blonde whispered in a sultry voice. Her lips were the same red color as her nails. She lifted a hand up to her uniform tie, playing with the pin as she leaned in very close. "I'm having some trouble understanding a bit of the more advanced jargon. Wanna tutor me?"

Her lips were so close, her breath hot and smelling like a mint or her toothpaste or something. Irvine let out a shuddering breath, feeling his jeans tighten as he grew hard. She simpered a laugh, closing the distance between them to kiss him with a hungry wantonness that drew a moan from him.

It took a few minutes—in which she climbed _over_ his desk and settled onto his lap, rubbing her naked crotch against him as she undid his belt and the fly of his pants—before he flinched away from her kiss and shoved her off. She stared at him, stunned; he wiped her lipstick off him with the back of his hand.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" he hissed.

"I was _trying_ to have sex with you," she said, as though it were terribly plain. It was, of course, but Irvine couldn't quite believe that the simple statement was all this boiled down to. He tugged on his hair in frustration; she cocked a brow, spreading her legs on the floor so her skirt crawled up and he had a perfect look at her naked pussy. "You don't wanna fuck me, Instructor."

"Fucking _god_, Ganover!" He slammed her knees together, towering over her menacingly. "I almost got _fired_ because of idiot girls like you and your friends! I'm on probation because of girls like you!"

She just blinked at him slowly, one finely manicured brow lifting toward her hairline.

"I thought you got in trouble because of dyke-Gordon. _She's_ the one that fucked you over—."

He slapped her, hard, across the face, and snarled in a deadly serious voice as he stepped back from her, "You will _never_ speak that way of a SeeD officer, Ganover. Get out of my class."

For a moment, she held a hand to her cheek. Then, she was scrambling to her feet, grabbing her book bag, and hurrying out of the classroom.

Irvine, frustrated and rock-hard, slammed a fist into his desk hard enough that the wooden fixture creaked a little, and let out a strained sob. He hadn't dealt with that in anything close to a manner condones by the Instructor's Code of Conduct, and all his worried, stressed mind could find to worry over was that she had been sprawled on the floor like a slut and he _hadn't_ taken advantage of it.

It had been something like that since the night he had returned and the morning after, when Irvine had stared incredulously at Squall and wondered if the young Commander was _serious_ when he asked what they had done. Admittedly, it had been drunken and clumsy, nothing necessary to remember. But, as had been true after Meya Gordon's complaint, he'd been harboring such self-control that it seemed every askance glance was enough to have him flying off the handle.

He was frustrated, stressed, and wanting. And shooting things up in the Training Center for five hours wasn't helping.

He had thought of inquiring after Squall's company again, but was too nervous. There was no way Zell would so much as think as helping Irvine out with a problem like this—though he would gladly help beat him up so that Irvine could actually get a night's sleep—and Quistis would just scowl and tell him to _deal_ with it.

He'd thought of asking Selphie for help with the whole thing, but the thought of her tears were too much to bear. It left him with scant possibilities: Nida would be receptive; and there was a small, seedy distract in Balamb where one might acquire an escort for the evening . . .

There was _one_ other opportunity, before he stooped to the possibility of staying in Balamb a night to pick up an escort. Maybe not the best idea, but an idea nonetheless.

And it would be nice, perhaps, just to talk it all the way through.

Before he knew it, he was back in his apartments—door locked, call turned off, lights off. He sat before his vid-comm, the number of Seifer Almasy's private line in Trabia gleaming in blue numbers at the bottom of the screen. Finally, after much internal deliberation, he pressed the call through.

A gray and white Trabian _Call Being Transferred_ screen flashed. After they had rebuilt, they had become quite the nice little Garden, helped in the technology department—as they all had—by Laguna's continued support of the program.

A shot of Seifer's apartment flashed, and Irvine just saw him walk passed the screen with a terse, "Almasy." He smiled slightly, leaned forward on his elbows.

"You just get out of the shower, Seif?"

There was silence, and then Seifer was back in-screen, staring incredulously at Irvine, before laughing heartily. He was, in fact, mostly naked and still looked a little wet. Irvine grinned back at him as Seifer grumbled, "Hot damn, Cowboy. What're you doing, calling me out of the blue? Ladies not treating you right?"

Irvine cringed a little, laughing anxiously and rubbing the back of his neck. "You could say that. I got in a bit of trouble 'bout a month and a half back."

"We're you being your normal idiot self?"

"No, actually. Well, kinda." Irvine shrugged, and related the story of what had happened to Seifer. It was, in fact, quite relaxing just to take with the older man—though that still seemed a little odd, since Seifer hadn't even _known_ him, really, until after the Ultimecia incident.

At the end of his story, Seifer shook his head and grumbled, mostly to himself, "I keep asking you to shack up with me, and you keep being _convinced_ you like women."

"I _do_ like women," Irvine insisted, though he knew that was a lie. _Seifer_ knew that was a lie as well, but he was respectful in that he never normally brought it up. Now was the same as always; he shrugged a little, and rolled his eyes. "Anyway. I just got back a few weeks ago."

"And? Do anything interesting to welcome yourself back?" Seifer _knew_, somehow, the answer to that question. But Irvine knew, through his years with Seifer, that the insufferable blonde wanted him to _say_ it. Wanted him to be embarrassed about it.

But Irvine wasn't embarrassed. He said with a shrug, "I slept with Squall." Seifer, who had been leaning a little to grab something, literally fell out his chair swearing. Irvine, quite proud of himself, decided to gloat about it later, because Seifer was scowling and crawling back up onto his desk chair.

"I _had_ expected you to say you were back with the bouncy _twit_ again, but this is _much_ more amusing. Do I get to ridicule him for taking it in the ass? Please say I get to call him and point this all out, Cowboy." Irvine rolled his eyes, and waved at himself despairingly.

"Seifer, have you met me?" The blonde grunted noncommittally and rolled his eyes, grumbling something about wanting to poke _something_ at the brunette Commander. Irvine sighed, and said, "He doesn't remember anyway. We were pretty bladdo."

"And you didn't _tell him_ that he had done nasty things to you?" Irvine shrugged.

"It would've been awkward."

"It isn't now?"

"Okay, Seif, you're _officially_ not helpful anymore," Irvine growled, reaching over to turn off the vid-comm. Seifer laughed, smiling a little and quickly apologizing ungracefully and only half-serious. "Are you going to be nice to me now?"

"Cowboy," Seifer murmured gently, touching his screen and leering a little. "Have you met me? Besides," he continued affectionately—as affectionately as he could be—"you don't _want_ me to be nice to you."

"Seifer—."

"Why'd you call, Cowboy?" Seifer asked in a gravely voice. He was smirking knowingly, arms crossed over his chest and green eyes smug. "Not to whine to me about your problems—I don't _care_ that you're not getting pussy and that you could get canned because you _want_ pussy. So. Why the call, Cowboy?"

"I . . . just wanted to hear your voice."

"Hear my voice, huh?" Seifer laughed harshly. "How sweet of you, Cowboy. And what is it you want to hear my voice say?"

"_God_, Seifer, don't be a jackass about this," Irvine growled, blushing a little. Seifer was leering at him, in that way that always made Irvine remember _why_ he had let the blonde fuck him during their SeeD exam.

"So that's it, huh? Call Seifer when you can't get a date." Irvine knew what was coming after that, but he wished, fervently, that the blonde wouldn't say it. He did though, growling a dark and lusty, "Fuck you, Irvine Kinneas. You can go pick yourself up a little tail down by the docks."

The vid-comm clicked off. Irvine, with a frustrated sob, swore and pulled his hair.

* * *

Zell and Irvine were sitting in the cafeteria, exchanging teaching notes and the best way to go about class reassignment after Irvine completed his field exercise, when Zell glanced over the redhead sniper's shoulder and his eyes widened a little—both in surprise and laughter.

"Don't look now. You have admirers." Irvine, surprised by Zell's words, flinched and looked over his shoulder; the blonde grumbled a reproachful, "You're an idiot, looking when I say _don't look_."

Standing on the other side of the cafeteria was a group of young woman, watching them intently—rather, most of them were watching him; but Simione was among them, and her eyes were riveted on Zell.

Irvine, spotting this, turned his attention back to Zell, shrugging a little. "You've got one of your own."

"I know," Zell muttered with a dejected sort of sigh. "She's really nice, Simione. But Hillary would flay me alive if I so much as _looked_ at her like I want her to . . . yeah." Irvine shook his head and laughed at Zell's inability to actually voice his mind. He and Zell kept talking, safely avoiding the subject of any women folk they might or might not want to be attached to.

They stopped when Irvine felt a tap on his shoulder and heard a soft feminine voice say, "Instructor Kinneas?"

As he turned, he was delivered a sharp, clawed slap, and the scathing remark from Leena Worthily: "You keep your _hands_ off Marissa, you _pig_!" Then, in just as much flare, the girl and her cohorts wandered off. People were staring and muttering to each other behind their hands, casting strange looks Irvine's way.

Irvine rubbed his cheek, feeling the high welts from Leena's nails. Zell cocked a brow and demanded with an exasperated sigh, "What did you do _now_?"

"Ganover was . . . . Look, it doesn't matter, okay? I didn't do anything."

"You put your hands on her," Zell pointed out needlessly.

"Yeah," Irvine scoffed, "to get her _off_ me. Surprisingly, I _like_ my job." He picked at his lunch, suddenly not hungry, then finally proclaimed, "I have to go set up for my next class; we're in the Training Center."

"Sure." Irvine stood, disposed of his lunch, and turned away. Zell caught his sleeve and looked up at him imploringly. "Don't do anything stupid, yo."

"I hear ya. I gotta _go_."

"Yeah man. See ya."

* * *

Rinoa returned to Balamb Garden by way of Trabia, escorted by one Seifer Almasy, ever her white knight. Even after everything he had done—to them, to their world, to _her_—they were the easiest of comrades. When they arrived, Irvine had been in Squall's office, talking to him (before anyone else got a chance to) about the events surrounding his actions directed toward Marissa Ganover, Rinoa had all but squealed and rushed over to Squall's side.

It was a good thing he'd been sitting on the edge of his desk, Irvine decided, or he would have been flat on his back. Irvine chuckled a little as Rinoa shot into a long, swift litany of the things she had done in some Trabian village; Squall ignored her and nodded stiffly to Seifer.

They—unlike the rest of them, except Zell—had never really gotten over everything that had happened between them, both before and after Seifer's brief insanity. Seifer barely looked at Squall, cleaning his nails instead, and said in a dismissive breath, "I'll be outta your hair in a minute, Ice Queen. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

"Squall, are you listening?" Rinoa asked. And suddenly, both her and Seifer seemed to notice Irvine sitting against the leg of Squall's desk. Rinoa looked scathingly down her nose and asked quietly, "You're still here?"

Seifer cocked a brow and gave Irvine an expression that clearly asked, "And what are _you_ doing on the floor, Cowboy?" which Irvine chose to ignore. He stood gracefully, grabbed his _new_ practice rifle, and tipped his hat to Squall.

"Just thought you oughta know, Squally."

"Yeah. You have class."

"I'm goin'," Irvine sighed, slinging the rifle of his shoulders and walking on an easy path out of Squall's office.

He knew Seifer was following him, and held the elevator as the tall blonde stepped in after him. Seifer smiled, chuckling roughly. "Surprised to see me?"

"Oh you have _no_ idea," Irvine grumbled sarcastically. Seifer snorted a little.

"Sorry to interrupt your little _date_, but the Princess insisted. And I live to serve."

"I'm sure you do," Irvine grumbled, stepping off on the second floor.

Seifer kept following him. He turned, half way down the northern corridor, and said, "I have to get to class. What is it?"

"Miss me?" Seifer was close, warm and comfortable. Irvine sighed dejectedly and rolled his eyes a little; Seifer's arms were around him, far more gently than Irvine expected or enjoyed. He shrugged him off.

"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?"

"You should come out with me tonight; I'm staying in Balamb for a few days."

"Take _Quisty_," Irvine volunteered. Seifer grabbed his sleeve, and tugged him back when he tried to walk away again.

Irvine brought his rifle up under Seifer's chin and hissed childishly, "So help me Seifer. I'm in a _bad_ mood, and you're just pissing me off."

"Well, well. Cowboy's got balls on him."

"And that's what you _love_ about me, isn't it?" He scoffed, snatched his arm back from Seifer, and lowered the gun. "Go back to Trabia, Seif. I'll call you when I'm looking for some emotional and verbal abuse."


	5. Chapter 5

_The only way to get rid of an urge is to yield to it._

_—Oscar Wilde_

Chapter Five

When Irvine's final class finished the field exercise, he dismissed everyone from the class for a three day weekend; but only his class. They still had to attend all their normal classes.

Then, with the help of Xu, Squall and Zell, he went through the one hundred forty-nine results of the exam he'd instilled. They were sorted through according to their movement—the Advanced Sniping, the two general Sniping, and the four Marksmanship classes—and then graded through according to his own records.

Age and sex were accounted for. Xu and Zell consulted Irvine about trivialities; Squall consulted him on his chicken-scratch handwriting and shorthand, which made Irvine chuckle and blush a little.

Well after Xu and Zell had left—both had to sleep; they had early classes—Irvine and Squall sat up, commiserating the rampant failures across the board of his classes.

He bemoaned, "I knew that a lot of people just joined so they could stare at me, but this is in_sane_."

"You can condense your classes though. Extend to a two-hour instead." Squall passed over the stack of papers that contained the score of the passing students. A good majority of them were boys, and most of them were from his Advanced Sniping and Sniping classes, but there was a wide variety. He leafed through them listlessly, than threw them onto the desk.

With a sigh, Irvine removed his hat and rubbed his face, leaning back in his chair with a wide stretch. Squall was watching him intently when he cared to look up; the redhead cocked a brow and asked, "The Princess is waiting for you, ya know. Why aren't you back yet?"

"Are you . . . alright?"

"Huh?" Irvine leaned forward in his chair. Squall stood from the couch, circling around the small table to stand in front of Irvine; the redhead didn't move, still facing toward where Squall had been sitting throughout the evening, but he arched his neck up.

"You're . . . off."

"Well, that's helpful. How am I _off_ Squally?" The brunette huffed a little, crossing his arms sullenly over his chest as he tried to find the words.

"You've been edgy lately. Since you got back. Haven't been acting like your normal self, and it's a little disconcerting."

"I've been busy, and trying to ignore the girls in my class," Irvine muttered. He grabbed his hat and replaced it atop his head so he didn't have to look at Squall staring at him. With a scoff, he grumbled, "You should be proud of me. I haven't even _flirted_ with a girl since I got back."

"I know. And it's creepy." Irvine looked up sharply. Squall sighed, rubbing his forehead right up near his hairline. He made a sharp gesture and said, "I just want to know what's going on. You're not _yourself_ and it's starting to freak everybody out."

"This is bullshit," Irvine growled, shooting to his feet. He dwarfed Squall by a few inches, and glowered down at him a little. "I do what you tell me to—mind my ass and everything—I try to keep my job, and you guys want me to put it in jeopardy again? What is this, so sort of Inquisition? Either way I go, I'm fucked over!"

"It's just not like you," Squall contested. Irvine rolled his eyes, throwing up his arms in annoyance.

"So I'm turning over a new leaf. So _sue_ me." He growled something menacing under his breath, and stalked off toward his bedroom.

Squall was following him, watching him from the doorway as he threw his hat across the room and began to undress. Irvine cast him an annoyed little look as he unbelted his chaps and brusquely asked, "Can I _help_ you?"

"A couple of students told Quistis that they saw Seifer and you in the hallway before class this afternoon." Irvine swore violently under his breath. Squall cocked a brow. "Is there something going on between you two?"

"No!" Irvine snapped. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking the tie out of his hair and grabbing his hairbrush. "Look, even if there _was_ something, it wouldn't be any of your business. But there's nothing going on. _I like women_." The last was perfectly unnecessary, but Irvine needed to hear it, more than just in his head.

Squall was watching him with a guarded expression. He grabbed the hairbrush from Irvine when his strokes became violent and stepped behind the redhead, who sullenly allowed the treatment.

After several minutes of silence, Squall said, "You were in bed with me." It wasn't an accusing statement, just a fact laced with some confusion and misunderstanding, perhaps being brought to light with these newest developments. "You were naked in bed with me."

"We were drunk. You don't remember, and I'd rather forget it."

"Was it . . . bad?" Irvine groaned; he didn't want to have this conversation. He looked over his shoulder at Squall.

"Is sex with Rinoa bad?"

"I don't know." That was ambiguous. Irvine stared at Squall for a minute, but his face disclosed nothing. The brush fell away from his hair and Irvine took it, deliberately touching Squall's hand. He turned, rising until he was eye-to-eye with the young Commander.

Squall let out a breathy sort of noise and said, "I should be getting back."

"Yeah."

Neither of them moved. Irvine, suddenly nervous, licked his lips, swallowed, and quietly murmured, "You wanna . . . ?"

And, just as it had with Seifer, those two simple, quiet words worked with Squall.

* * *

It was not a 'relationship' or a 'dalliance' or anything so sweet and tender and _romantic_ as that. Irvine didn't want it that way—not yet—and Squall, with Rinoa hanging off his every word, wasn't about to admit to something like that. Together, they were not at all like how Irvine had been with Seifer—both when they had been young in Galbadia, before Seifer had met Rinoa; and after Time Compression, when they'd had their brief fling during the SeeD exam. There was no profession of love, barely even a semblance of it.

Quistis was the first to notice that something had happened. She had always been sharp like that, though Irvine later wondered how she could tell the difference between a normal, friendly commandeering of Squall's office and the liaison they'd been engaging in slowly when she had entered. There were no outward signs to speak for the latter, though perhaps having Irvine actually facing Squall instead of taking up his normal station was noticeable enough.

When she caught Irvine alone on the quad later in the evening, she had said, "Rinoa will be upset if she finds out."

"We aren't doing anything," Irvine assured, flicking ashes off his cigarette—they all hated it when he smoked, but it helped dull the stress and he never did it around any of the students if he could help it; he barely ever did it on grounds—and staring off toward the ocean.

"She doesn't like you. If she finds out, or _thinks_ she's found out—."

"Then Squall will set her straight." He crushed his cigarette butt under the heel of his boot, then stooped and picked it up from the concrete. Softly, he smiled at Quistis and kissed her brow gently. She pushed him away with a slight smile and said he smelled like smoke. After that, she never brought it up again.

Selphie was the next to notice. She saw Irvine and Squall eating lunch together, and Irvine, she later reported, had been smiling so widely; so had Squall, if the indifferent little lift in his lips could be called a smile.

She came to his apartments to talk to him, and he had been terribly shy when she came in and sat on his desk chair, snatching up his discarded hat and planting it firmly on her head.

"I should buy you your own," he said, smiling cheekily. She smiled a little and told him it wouldn't be the same, but that _Squall_ would look good in the hat; she said that with this knowing look in her eyes that had Irvine immediately saying, "We aren't doing anything."

"You both look happy, though, with your Not-Doing-Anything-ness." Her smile got a little bigger but a little sadder. "I want you to be happy again, Irvy, really I do. But I'm sorry that I couldn't make you happy."

"Oh, Sefie," Irvine murmured. He sat at her feet and chucked her chin, wiping away the tears that were beginning to fall from her big brown eyes. "You _do_ make me happy, babe. And I know that what I did was horrible. I wish I knew how to fix it—."

"Just don't hurt him like that, Irvy," Selphie demanded. She wagged a finger at him, laughing lightly. "Otherwise, I'll have to come after you with Doomtrain and Cactuar and Eden."

After that, she never brought it up again, though Irvine often caught her with a contemplative look on her face during staff meetings, her eyes darting between him and Squall.

Zell figured it out after his fiancée Hillary pointed it out to him—he then contended that, looking back, it _was_ rather obvious that something was going on. They had all been out together after a particularly grueling reevaluation of the situation between Centra and Timber, and Hillary had been talking with Zell, who had been watching Squall and Irvine closely.

Later, when Zell came around with his same little point—to which Irvine again contested, "We're not _doing_ anything."—and they had finished, Irvine thought, the discussion, the stout blonde jabbed a finger into the middle of Irvine's chest and growled, "If you hurt him like you hurt Sefie, I will break your damn neck and damn the consequences. I'm not even joking."

And Irvine believe him. After that, Zell never brought it up again.

Irvine called Seifer, and the tall blonde, upon seeing him, asked, "How many times have you fucked the Ice Queen?"

"Am I really that obvious?"

Seifer jeered, "You've got frost bite, Cowboy. How's my favorite blue-eyed closet-homo?"

Except there wasn't much of a closet anymore, except Irvine's own continued reiteration that he liked women. When he said that, Squall would always give him a pointed little look and mutter a terse, "Whatever," which was only slightly mocking of Irvine's denial.

He spoke with Seifer for a while, until his call-button chimed annoying on the very edge of his hearing. With a roll of his eyes, he dismissed himself and opened the door.

Squall stood outside, looking stormy and a little mussed, and asked if he could come in for a while. Irvine, gape-jawed, took a step back, then hurried back to his vid-comm and glared at Seifer for a minute.

"I take it the Ice Queen's there?"

"Shuddup. I'll call you back."

"I want details, Cowboy!" Irvine clicked the vid-comm off, just as Squall stepped into his bedroom, one brow lifted.

Irvine tried to look nonchalant, leaning against the wall and smiling beatifically. Squall stepped toward him purposefully as Irvine asked, "What can I do you for, Mr Commander?" For a moment, Squall just stood there, utterly disarming, before his hands slowly drifted up to Irvine's shoulders.

Irvine flinched when Squall embraced him tightly, and started just a little when he felt the first raking shudder in the smaller man's body. He didn't _like_ it when people cried—liked it less when men cried, and even _further_ less when it was one of his friends—because it made him remember all the time he spent crying or watching the others cry in the orphanage.

He didn't like it because, unlike anger or resentment or even attachment—which he could charm and talk his way out of—he couldn't _do_ anythings about tears. So when Squall began to cry against his shoulder, he just kind of stood stalk-still and waited until he was done.

And when he was done, he pulled back, laughing at himself and apologizing. Irvine quietly, unsurely, said, "It's okay. You wanna sit down?" Squall nodded, and walked over to Irvine's bed; he curled up against the headboard, and Irvine sprawled out beside him, still unsure what he needed to do in this situation.

"Rinoa called. Zell or somebody, they called her. Asked about me and if i she /i knew what was going on . . . with, uh . . ."

"With us?" Irvine supplied. Squall shrugged a little. He was picking at his nails. He wasn't wearing his leathers or his jacket, just a pair of decent looking, baggy slacks and his stupid white T-shirt. He looked washed out and much younger than his twenty-four years.

"So she called. And she flew off the handle—'What are you doing?' 'What about us?' 'Irvine's a slut; you'll get hurt' and all this . . . this . . ." Squall shook his head and wiped hopelessly at the tears that were beginning to come again.

"Hey, it's okay," Irvine consoled unsurely. It wasn't okay. He remembered his own breakup with Selphie, about how she had screamed at him and everything had felt like the world was falling away. Unsurely, he touched Squall's arm.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Squall said quietly. He looked at Irvine helplessly. The child Irvine saw in his eyes was the same child that had stood in the rain at the orphanage and had asked for Sis Ellone to come home. "I love her."

"I know." Slowly, Irvine sat up. Awkwardly, he slid up to Squall's side and wrapped him in a gentle embrace, pulling him as close as he dared and petting his hair gently. He shushed him when Squall began to cry again. "It's okay, Squally. It'll be okay."

"I don't want anybody to leave again," Squall choked against Irvine's chest. Irvine shushed him, rubbing his scalp comfortingly.

"Hey, hey. I'm not goin' anywhere, right? C'mon, Squally. It's okay. There'll be . . . there'll be other girls. There'll be other 'Rinoa'-types. You know that." It almost hurt to say that, and Irvine didn't want to admit why that might be. He just kept his touches light and friendly, and let Squall cry.

Squall demanded wetly, "Why does everybody leave me?"

"I'm still here, Squally," Irvine assured. He chucked his chin, and smiled gently as he quietly repeated, "I'm still here."

It was surprisingly easy to put love into his kiss. But Irvine worried that, in such a state as this, Squall would only get hurt.

* * *

"I don't think you should smoke anymore."

Irvine looked over at Squall from where he sat at the chair in front of his vid-comm, puffing smoke out the open window. Squall wasn't looking at him, flipping instead through one of Irvine's various nefarious magazines. He tilted the page up, staring at it curiously. With a chuckle, Irvine expelled one last puffs, then smothered the cigarette. He tossed the ashes into the waste bin beside the vid-comm desk, then leaned over to Squall, kissing his forehead gently.

"I'm gonna go brush my teeth."

"Take a shower too," Squall grumbled. "You smell like smoke."

It was an interesting sort of arrangement they had. A week after that fateful night, there had been no pretenses. Squall had no reason to be secretive, and wasn't ashamed of Irvine or anything. Irvine tried to be the same, though he had gotten too used to ridicule and hatred aimed at him for his effeminate ways. The worked out some ground rules—Don't tell anybody that doesn't need to know; No public displays of affection, beyond Irvine's normal friendliness toward all his companions; They could stay over, but not for longer than a night, or it would look funny.

A part of Irvine wished they could just move into Squall's apartments. They were fairly large, in comparison, and it would just be easier. Everybody who needed to know knew already—except Laguna, but Squall was being obstreperous about that and Irvine was beginning to think that it would just be better to take matters into his own hands—and it wasn't as if anybody could really do anything if they did have a problem with it: they were the Commander and Marksmanship Instructor.

But Irvine didn't say anything. He really wasn't one to talk anyway, about Squall's strange little trepidations, when he couldn't even bring himself to focus inward and relay the overwhelming verdict of this entire venture: _You, Irvine Kinneas, are a homosexual._

Under the spray of the shower, vaguely listening to the music he'd turned on the radio, he didn't even notice the sound of the bathroom door opening.

He jumped when Squall's cold hands slid across his stomach, and stood very still in surprise as Squall rested gently against his back. The brunette inhaled deeply, then reported gently, "You smell better now."

"Thanks, I think," Irvine said, reaching for the soap. Squall was this insistent, cold press against his back; it was distracting. He peered over his shoulder, cocked his brow and asked, "Don't you have to run a Garden?"

He hummed sleepily, then said, "Not until eight in the morning."

"Well _I_ have to get ready for my first classes. And they start at seven. So if you could—_fuck_! Squall! Warm your hands up before you do shit like that!"

Squall grunted behind him, left his hands tucked between Irvine's thighs, and planted a kiss between the redhead shoulder blades. For such a distant and supposedly indifferent man, Squall had become surprisingly affectionate. Irvine . . . _minded_, surprisingly. He didn't want affection, he told himself; women wanted affection. Women in _relationships_. And he wasn't one. It was difficult for Irvine to get over his internal roadblocks when Squall did things like climb in the shower and tuck his hands between Irvine's legs.

"I have to go," he said, just barely over the sound of the water. Squall untangled himself, and Irvine slipped quickly out of the shower.

He dressed, and left before he had to confront the brunette again. It as _hard_, dealing with whatever it was they had.


	6. Chapter 6

_We have to distrust each other. It's our only defense against betrayal._

_—Thomas Lanier "Tennessee" Williams_

Chapter Six

Irvine met Shera while he was on duty in Deling City as an envoy to Galbadia Garden. She was a brunette with big eyes who had murmured something delicious to him about men in uniforms as he stopped to flirt shamelessly with her.

Nobody noticed him slip off with her, because nobody cared. He was with a group of new SeeDs, and none of them knew about his '_thing_' with Squall. There was no one to tell him about his dalliance. And Irvine felt no guilt, tumbling her into bed and having his way. Through it all, it was a steady comfort—breasts and light moans and sharp nails cutting into his back. She had been tight, like she was a new whore or something, and she had screamed when she came.

He left her, asleep, and threw up in an alley. There was no guilt.

When they returned to Balamb, Squall was out of the country, visiting Esthar. Irvine hoped that Squall was telling Laguna about their 'thing', even though he didn't like to think about it. He showered, and looked at the scratches that were _still there_ from Shera.

Two days later, when Squall returned, the scratches were still there. Irvine wondered if they were infected. He didn't want to explain them to Dr Kadowaki. He ignored them studiously, and went about his days teaching his much diminished classes and generally trying to enjoy his life.

An old girlfriend, who had seen him in Deling City, managed to find out his private line phone-code and left him a message. She looked good, all smiles and obviously dyed hair and a slutty little red number that was getting tugged at by masculine hands while she recorded his message.

Squall came by, late in the evening. He didn't say "I miss you" or ask how Irvine had been. He asked how the mission went; Irvine rolled his eyes and said, "I left a report on your desk." But it was clear Squall knew something was up.

Irvine, as was his habit, had been taking off his clothes when Squall had shown up. Forgetting about the scratches, he turned away from the brunette to remove his boots.

Squall's cold hands traced one of the scratches. Irvine went still, then turned around quickly, saying, "I can explain."

"Yeah. Right." Squall shook his head, scowling darkly. His eyes said, "Maybe Rinoa was right. Maybe you _are_ a slut," but he was already turning away, storming out the door. Irvine didn't grab for his clothes, just hurried after the brunette.

"Squall, wait!" he demanded. He laughed thickly, trying to make light of the situation. "It was one night. We didn't really even _do_ anything."

"You _fucked_ her," Squall growled. Irvine tried to laugh that off as well, but it was beginning to sound strained and wet, like he was going to cry. Squall glared over his shoulder at him, scoffed, said, "I don't know _why_ I was expecting anything. Damnit."

"What, you gonna kick me out again? Improper conduct and all that shit? I'm unfitting the title of SeeD?"

"Would that make any difference?" Squall asked incredulously. "No. You'd probably go off and turn yourself into a hooker. Fine. But if that's what you want, you go _right_ ahead."

Those words hurt. Irvine snarled, grabbing at Squall's shoulder, "I'm _trying_, okay?"

"Yeah. Right."

Irvine released Squall's shoulder, trying to understand why it felt like his eyes were on fire. Squall was already half-way down the hall. The anger went out of him with a sharp edge that left behind a bitter aftertaste. Irvine hurried after him, then coarsely hissed, "I'm sorry."

"Do you _really_ think that's going to make a difference in the long run?" Squall asked, continuing on. Irvine pulled to a stop, staring at his hands stupidly for a second.

Quietly, he said, "No, but . . ." Squall, realizing Irvine was no longer following him, stopped and turned to watch the redhead. Slowly, Irvine looked up at him, and tried to press a smile onto his lips; it felt like he was scowling. "I'm trying, you know?"

"I know that, Irvine," Squall said, walking back to him. He touched Irvine's arm gently, awkwardly, refusing to meet his eyes. "But . . . maybe this is a sign or something. Maybe you're not cut out for this sort of thing."

"I don't have anywhere else to go," Irvine whispered. Squall looked up at him, gray eyes sharp and cold. But he knew the warmth was under there—it was hidden away now, but Irvine _knew_ it was there; he'd seen it. He'd put it there.

He did not try to kiss Squall, just tried again for that smile, stepped back, and waved off everything he'd said dismissively. "Forget it," he muttered, shrugging and nodding his understanding. "Yeah, just . . . forget it."

* * *

"You just mess everything up, don't you?"

Irvine was surprised to hear Meya Gordon's voice. He lowered the Exeter and turned, cocking a brow and saying, "I thought you were in Timber."

"We got recalled. The Commander thinks we need to send in more senior SeeDs." She looked out over the shoot range Irvine had commissioned in his early teaching years to where the tall redhead had absolutely decimated target. "Wow. Which of the girls is frustrating you this time, Instructor?"

"It's not a girl." He hit the reel-button and skulked against the frame of his booth. Meya removed the target and placed a new one on the hook; she reeled it back out.

"Oh? A _woman_ then—."

"It's nothing like that." He brought the Exeter up in a wide arch, and took several quick shots at the target. The paper tore magnificently.

When the gunfire had died off and Irvine had hit the reel-button again, Meya asked, "Do you mind if I ask what you messed up?"

"My _life_ apparently."

"I'm sorry." He looked at her askance as she put a new target on. She didn't have a gun with her. He wondered how she'd found him, but not for very long.

"Why are you apologizing? It isn't your fault I'm a royal screw up."

"But you seemed very happy before I—."

"Look," Irvine interrupted, leaning against the Exeter and meeting Meya's eyes evenly. "You did the right thing. I needed somebody to get me to wake up, and you did that. For the students anyway. But it isn't your fault that I'm a royal screw up and that I can't make the people I really like stick around for longer than a year."

He picked up the Exeter and turned away from the target. Meya fell into step behind him; she seemed unsatisfied with his answers.

"Yes?"

"If you talk about it, it makes things easier," she said in a quiet voice. He looked at her, brow cocked and slightly skeptical, then chuckled.

"You don't wanna hear me whine."

"Please. Instructor, you've done a lot for me—."

"You _hated_ me."

She shook her head. "I didn't. You unnerved me. You . . . you were the first guy who wasn't just looking at my breasts, but I didn't know that then." She blushed a little, and smiled unsurely. "I want to help, sir."

Irvine stared at her for a second, before smiling softly. Gently, he cupped her cheeks and bent, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead.

"You're a good kid, Gordon." He turned from her, and said over his shoulder, "But you're not who I need to talk to."

An hour later, he stood in Squall's office, staring down the slightly older man with a firm resolve and his determination written all across his face.

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

Irvine rolled his eyes. "Don't gimme that. Look, I messed up. I made an idiot outta myself, and I proved, yet again, that I'm just a royal pain in the ass with a very firm penchant for causing a whole lot a shit for the people I care about."

He was silent for a second, and then said, leaning over the desk and planting his hands of Squall's paperwork, "But I wanna make it better."

"You can't _make it better_," Squall muttered, refusing to look up at Irvine. "This isn't something that you can hit with an Esuna. You _messed up_."

"I _know_ that," Irvine growled. He slapped a hand on the table, and Squall actually jumped a little. "But I wanna try again."

"Irvine," Squall said very slowly. He looked up at the redhead, stony-faced and absolutely unreadable, and continued, "I don't want you to try again. That was it. One shot."

"That's _bullshit_," Irvine snarled. Squall just shrugged, looking away.

"That's life." He shoved one of Irvine's hands off his paperwork and said stiffly, "Get out of my office Kinneas."

As Irvine stalked off, frustrated and malcontent, he peered slightly over his shoulder, and caught Squall burying his face in his hands.

* * *

The day before Irvine's twenty-fourth birthday, Laguna Loire and Kiros Seagill showed up at Balamb Garden. Surprisingly, Squall did not follow through with his threat to have his father shot if he was saw any where near the campus; he even came down and escorted them up to his office.

Six hours after their arrival, Irvine looked up from the tests he was grading to the quiet swish of his classroom doors. In the hall, he could hear a furiously protesting Squall and argumentative Laguna; Kiros preceded the antics, and pulled Irvine out of his seat.

"Come on, before Laguna lets go of Squall and he tries to get away again."

"Wha—?"

Squall was saying something about how this was totally unnecessary and qualified as abduction and various other things that were completely ignored; Laguna was just complaining that it wasn't _his_ fault Squall had gotten away, because the young man kicked _hard_ and Laguna was getting _old_.

Kiros just herded them all onto the elevator. He had his katals out on there, one directed very pointedly at Squall and the other twirled absently by that hand.

"Here's the deal. You, Squall, came to us the happiest you've been since you and Rinoa got together. Now, we finally get a chance to get over here, and you're worse than before. Neither of you are talking, _obviously_, so here's what we're going to do: We're taking you down to Winhill, you two are going to get locked in a room unarmed, and when you've both _grown up a little_, we'll let you out."

"Like _hell_," Squall snapped. He didn't dare move though, carefully eying the blade pressed to his neck. Kiros gave him a sharp look.

"Who said you had a choice?"

* * *

The rooms in the hotel in Winhill were surprisingly well made and burglar proof—locks on the windows and doors that the hotel-owner held at all times on his person; good strong structure to the doors and walls; and none of that shambling sheet-rock that one could punch a fist through. Squall had spent the first hour trying to break out of the room, and when that had been unsuccessful, had fallen onto the bed on his stomach and promptly ignored Irvine's very presence.

Irvine showered, and returned to find Squall lying in the exact same position. He nudged the young Commander in the side and said, "If you don't get up soon, you'll smother yourself."

"Shut up and go away."

"Hey, don't make it seem like this is all _my_ fault," Irvine groused right back. "_You're_ the one with the crazy father who somehow convinced his equally crazy bed-boy to kidnap us."

Squall was quiet for a moment, before grumbling something that Irvine couldn't quite make out. When he jabbed him in the ribs and demanded a reiteration, Squall turned his head and growled, "I _said_, it was Kiros' idea."

"That doesn't change the fact that you can't be mad at me, because it isn't my fault we're here." He waved a hand in a grand gesture, then turned his back on Squall. When he dropped his towel and bent to grab his clothes, he was painfully aware of Squall watching him.

"So," Squall quietly said after Irvine was dressed and was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to wrestle a brush through his hair. "How long are we suffering this?"

"I'm thinking of cutting my hair," Irvine grumbled, yanking at a particularly brutal knot. Squall shot him an annoyed little look. "Have you ever tried to brush through hair like this—."

"Oh, for the love of—." Squall snatched the brush away from Irvine and began to wrestle through the knots with much less pain and much more precision. They were silent for a while, until the brush was running through Irvine's hair without the slightest pull. "You didn't answer my question."

"Well, _I_ have it figured we're here until Kiros unlocks the door. But if _you_ want to lie your way outta this, that's fine by me."

Squall was silent. Then brush fell away, but the brunette kept running his fingers through Irvine's hair for several minutes. The cool slide of his hair alerted him to the sudden shift of weight across his shoulders, as Squall split his hair into three equal hanks and began to slowly twist them together.

When he was finished, Squall said, "Keep it up while you're showering. It'll get less tangled." He wrapped Irvine's elastic around the tail of the braid; Irvine ran his fingers slowly over the plait, to encounter Squalls' hand still wrapped around the tail.

Peering over his shoulder, Irvine asked, trying to be cool and indifferent, "Something else?"

But it was hard to be cool and indifferent with lips on his.

* * *

They came to a final agreement: if Kiros wasn't satisfied with their 'development' within three weeks, they'd promise to work out their problems back at Garden. If that didn't work, they'd coerce Laguna into letting them out; he was an easy enough nut to break.

But it was difficult, having to live in the same space for that long. There was only the one bed—and after an awkward night of Irvine sleeping on the floor and bitching the next morning about his back hurting, Squall had let up and allowed the redhead onto the bed as well—and they were always very careful to shift and space out their shower times, too nervous to see the other in such a state.

Kiros would check in on them occasionally, and seemed genuinely proud of their improvement from the state they'd been in when he'd dragged them—with Laguna's help, of course—into Winhill and locked them into the room. He also allowed them an hour in town to purchase clothing—"You two smell rank; don't you know how to wash your clothing?".

A week after that, as Irvine was laying on the bed staring at the ceiling and Squall was trying to teach himself solitaire with belt buckles, Irvine demanded, "Has it been three weeks yet? I'm gettin' bored."

"_Getting_?"

"We need to pass the time," Irvine mused, mostly to himself. But the clack of the belt buckles ceased, and then Squall was staring up the length of the bed at Irvine with a positively insidious expression. He blinked down the mattress at the brunette, cocking a brow. "What?"

"You did _not_ just propose what I think you did."

"I dunno." Irvine blinked, lifting onto his elbows and crossing his ankles nonchalantly. "What did I just propose?"

"That we . . . _screw_."

"Did I _say_ that?" Irvine questioned listlessly. Squall just scowled a little more darkly.

After a moment, he muttered, "No."

"Then get the stick outta yer ass and stop being such a prick," Irvine requested haughtily. He sprawled back out, refusing to look at the brunette. It was hard enough, spending time with him in closed quarters; having him making assumptions from perfectly innocent statements, as he had been for several days now, was beginning to wear on his nerves.

He felt Squall climb onto the bed.

Irvine sat up and rested against the headboard next to Squall. Very slowly, he removed his hat and cast it aside, before looking over at the brunette. Squall had this unreadable expression, his eyes focused on his knuckles, his back stiff.

"I mean," Irvine murmured. "If you wanna."

"No," Squall quickly said, shaking his head. Irvine nodded; he'd thought as much, but had felt a brief glimmer of hope—maybe . . . possibly . . . ?

Squall's hand slid into Irvine's and he didn't say anything. His callouses were rough against Irvine's palm; he had scars on the back of his hand; they did not intertwine fingers or caress each other's knuckles or anything sentimental like that. After a while, Irvine looked over at Squall.

"Hate to sound like a teenager again, but you wanna make out?"

Squall's scowl was only set on half-power. Irvine supposed that was some sort of triumph.


	7. Chapter 7

_Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle; love is a war; love is a growing up._

_—James Baldwin_

Chapter Seven

Three weeks after their little abduction, Irvine and Squall were returned to Balamb Garden with a sharp admonishment from Kiros to i stop /i being such juvenile idiots about their relationship. After the two older men had gone, Irvine spared a glance over at Squall, taking in his stalwart expression. He cradled the back of his head, scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot idly, trying to think of something intelligent to say that wasn't completely off from the events that had transpired.

They weren't back to the place they had been before Irvine had experienced his dalliance with Shera in Deling City. But they were better; to a point where they weren't scoffing and glaring and avoiding all physical contact. Irvine felt as though a pressure had lifted from his chest.

Squall grabbed his hand, grumbled, "C'mon," and pulled Irvine away from the front gate and onto the campus proper. Irvine smiled a little; his fingers laced together with Squall's, making the brunette peer back at him suspiciously.

Sure there were no students or other Instructors around, Irvine pulled Squall close and delivered a swift kiss to the Commander's cheek. Squall made an annoyed sort of noise, though he put up no physical protest. Irvine went for his lips slyly, and Squall, once again, did not push him away.

When they broke from their kiss, Squall licked his lips and didn't look at Irvine. Then, he cocked a brow slightly. "I thought you didn't like men like that."

"I'll make an exception. But only 'cause you're _so_ pretty, Squally."

". . . Fuck you, Kinneas." The tall redhead chuckled, continuing in their approach toward the main entrance.

"You _do_, actually. So I don't see how that's much of a—." Squall yanked Irvine's hair—still caught up in the braid Squall had tied him off with—and smirked slightly at Irvine's high-pitched yelp of indignation. Their hands had dropped; Irvine felt at his scalp, glowering at the abuse.

Squall sarcastically uttered, "Oops," and kept on walking. Irvine swore, grumbled, and hurried after him.

* * *

"Instructor Kinneas?" 

"Oh. Good afternoon, Miss Gordon."

"Good afternoon, sir." She stalled for a moment, a slight blush on her cheeks, before thrusting a thick manila envelope toward the red-haired Instructor.

He chuckled and asked, "What's this?"

"I caught a couple of _Junior Classmen_ with them. Presumably, they got them from some older student, but I thought . . ." Irvine wasn't listening any more, flipping through the sheafs of glossy picture-paper, staring at images of himself and Squall in rather intimate, if not overtly compromising, positions.

He looked up at Meya Gordon and quietly whispered, "Junior Classmen."

"Five of them. They were giggling over them in the quad."

"Have you . . . mentioned this to the Commander?"

"No sir," the young SeeD uttered, shaking her head. The blush on her cheeks was bright and shy. Irvine swore under his breath. Meya offered, "I know the names of all the Junior Classmen."

"Good. You're coming with me." He stood, and guided her quickly out of the room.

The walk down the hall and ride on the elevator were quiet, until Meya quietly said, "I'm sorry for embarrassing you, sir."

"Don't be."

"I didn't know you . . . were like that."

Irvine smothered a self-deprecating little laugh and replied seriously, "Neither did I, until a while ago." It was a lie, but not a complete one; it had taken losing Squall for him to realize that perhaps he was just covering up his emotions with his random, risky flings.

The elevator chimed. Simione, sitting before her desk, gave Irvine a strange, trepidatious look, which unsettled Irvine a little but not enough to stop his determined stride toward Squall's office doors.

Simione broke in, "You can't go in, Instructor!" which made Irvine slow and finally stop, turning to face the young woman.

Almost scathingly, he asked, "And why not, Simione?"

"He's . . . . The Commander's in a meeting right now, Instructor." Her stumbling and stuttering made Irvine tilt his head in suspicious speculation. Simione jittered her foot under his scrutiny.

Slowly, he leaned in, and said in a quiet, immediate voice, "I don't care if he's fucking somebody in there, Simione. If the door isn't locked, I'm going in."

"Instructor—." But Irvine wasn't listening. He stepped up to the door, turned the handle, and stepped in.

Squall looked away from his window, obviously ready to give a brutal reprimand to Simione. His expression softened when he saw Irvine, then darkened as he caught sight of the manila folder he held.

"We _might_ have a problem."

* * *

It didn't seem like it should be terribly hard—and it wasn't, really—to fall back into their routine of Irvine showing up at random in Squall's office or outside his doors, smiling slightly and trying not to be an idiot. But it was different now. They couldn't just meet up, standing on the quad, and talk because there were students who watched them and whispered behind their hands and stared. 

Three weeks after the Junior Classmen refused to tell Squall and Irvine who they had gotten the pictures from—"A friend of a friend," was all they got—a thirteen year old in Irvine's Marksmanship class loitered after class, before finally seeming to build up the courage to come forward and ask what was on his mind.

It wasn't often that Irvine was solicited for knowledge beyond marksmanship, but he had a feeling that this was going to be something a bit more.

"Go to class for now," he told the boy before he could even ask his question. He smiled and patted the kid on the shoulder. "Come by after your last hour, and we can talk, alright?"

"Thank you, Instructor."

"It's no problem, Tern."

So, before Irvine's Advanced Sniping class came into session, Tern was seen loitering outside Irvine's office. He popped his head out and smiled at the young teen, beckoning him in. Tern sat uncomfortably on one of the chairs, and fidgeted with his uniform sleeve for several long, silent moments.

"Does it hurt?" he suddenly prompted. Irvine cocked a brow and laughed softly.

"You're going to have to be more specific, Tern."

"S-sex." There was a blush on his cheeks, high and dark. "W-with a boy."

For several long, tense moments, Irvine just stared gape-jawed at the young teen. Tern shot to his feet, stuttering and apologizing and hurrying toward the door, gripping the strap of his book bag like his very life depended on it.

"Whoa, whoa. Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait." He grabbed Tern's arm, and shut the door with his foot. "What prompted all this?"

"I-I-I—." Tern was looking everywhere but at Irvine, tears beginning to well in his eyes. Irvine smoothed a hand over the teen's arm, consoling him quietly without words. He took a deep breath, and rubbed his brow, before quietly saying, "There's this . . . guy. He's older than me. I don't think he likes me, but I really like him and—."

"Don't use sex to get him," Irvine instantly broke in, shaking his head. "That is a crappy way to have your first experience with a guy, by whoring your body off for affection."

"But I really like him—."

"Tern, listen to me." He cupped the boy's chin, and smiled a little. "Look. You asked me 'cause you know something about Commander Leonheart and myself?"

"I-I . . . saw some of the pictures . . ." Tern confessed quietly.

"Okay. See . . . the two of us, we aren't exactly something you should model after. In fact, i I'm /i someone you shouldn't model after. And trust me: no matter how much you like this guy, no matter how cute or funny or smart he is . . . if he doesn't love you, it isn't worth it." Tern nodded a little. Irvine smiled. "Now, go do your homework or something."

"Thank you, Instructor Kinneas."

An hour after his Advanced Sniping class was over, he sat outside Squall's door, waiting for the young Commander to come down from his office. It seemed the safer option, over going up to his office and making an idiot out of himself, doing something stupid like professing his love or breaking up with the older man.

He was beginning to wonder if Squall was ever going to come down when the brunette turned the corner, arms full of papers, and began a brisk walk toward the door. Irvine sprang up, hurrying over and saying quietly, "Lemme have some of that."

Squall started, his hands lax as Irvine took an armful and smiled gently down at the the brunette.

"What do you want?"

"Why do I have to _want_ something to do something nice for you?" Squall looked supremely skeptical, but shrugged, and continued on to his apartments. The door slid open to his punch-code, and they stepped in together, setting the papers down before Squall turned to activate the lights.

After a moment of quiet, Irvine asked, "So why all the paper work?"

"Commissions. Esthar, Galbadia Garden, Shumi Village _again_. Some rich brat in Dollet that wants personal SeeD escorts for the rest of the year." Irvine snorted and smiled a little, settling onto the couch. Squall sat beside him with a tired sigh. "Want to help?"

They sat up for some time, flipping through and comparing the various commissions. After some time, Squall leaned back with a yawn, stretching widely, and asked with a tired sort of negligence, "You staying the night?"

"You want me too?"

"Whatever," Squall murmured, standing. He bent a twist out of his back, groaning softly. Irvine watched him intently as he strode out of the sitting room and into the bedroom.

After getting his brain up to a semi-functioning level, Irvine stood and followed. From the doorway, watching Squall undress—as Squall normally watched Irvine—he quietly asked, "Do you love me?"

The instant the words left his lips, Irvine wished he could retract them. Squall's hands stilled on his fly, and he turned slowly, peering at Irvine from behind his hair. After a moment, he shook his hair out of his eyes and quietly asked, "Where did that come from?"

"Nowhere. Never mind. I shouldn't have asked—."

"Irvine," Squall began softly.

"I should . . . _go_ or . . ."

"Why are you running?" With his back to Squall, he thought he could hear hurt in his voice. He didn't dare think . . . . But maybe . . . . He shook his head firmly and buried his hands in his hair, growling under his breath. "Irvine, what are you afraid of?"

"I'm not _afraid_," Irvine growled. He removed his hat, played with the brim a moment, than slammed it back onto his head. "I just fuck everything up. Selphie, every other girl I've been with. Fuck, I even managed to fuck i Seifer /i up, and . . ."

He whirled, glaring accusingly at Squall for a moment, before the annoyance went out of his eyes and he said, "I don't want to fuck anything up. And I don't wanna _get_ fucked up, which is what you do."

"What?"

"No, you don't fuck things up," Irvine corrected, removing his hat again. He sighed, angry at his own inarticulateness. "I mean . . . you fuck me up. And I can't just hit the pause button and think it over and try and get used to it, because I don't want to. I'm afraid to: afraid that you'll get bored, or I'll get freaked out. And then I fuck things up and I just don't—."

Squall silenced him with a kiss.

* * *

"So when are you two tying the knot?" 

Both Zell and Irvine choked on their foot as Hillary sat down with that concise little sentence. Zell took a while longer to recover, muttering under his breath and shaking his head and quietly asking of his fiancée, "_Why_ am I marrying you?"

"Because you love me," Hillary responded with a wide smile. Her gaze turned back to Irvine. "So. When are you and the Commander—."

"We _aren't_!" Irvine squeaked. She cocked a brow at him, a slight smirk on her lips, and Irvine could have damned her for her perceptions. He picked at his mashed potatoes and shook his head, muttering, "We aren't _doing_ anything—."

"You said that before the two of you disappeared, and I know something has changed. So. When are you—?"

"I'm not having this conversation." He shook his head, standing. The nervous knot in his stomach tightened as Hillary smiled that knowing smile of hers, and he hurried away from the table.

They hadn't talked about it, Irvine's strange behavior. Squall hadn't so much as hinted that he i wanted /i to take about it, and that was fine by Irvine. He didn't like feeling the way he did—like the entire planet had turned on end and his world had been flipped inside-out. Vaguely, he could remember the early months of his relationship with Selphie being like that: all nervous energy and unsureness every time he so much as thought of her.

He wondered . . .

Somehow, he ended up at Selphie's office. She was just getting ready for her next class, but she looked up and smiled at Irvine politely.

"What can I do you for you, Irvy?"

"How did you know you loved me?"

She stared at him stupidly for a second, a certain sadness coming over her eyes. Then, she forced that smile back into place and stood, grabbing his shoulders and bouncing up onto the tips of her toes to peck a kiss to his nose.

"I just knew," she said simply.

"You didn't . . . _feel_ different."

"Different like _how_?" There was this edge to her voice, like she was thinking, "Silly boy, you have to actually i string words together /i or I won't understand you." He tried to get his tongue around the words, but they wouldn't come as easily as he wanted them too.

She was very quiet, and then whispered, "This is about you and Squall?"

"_No_!" Irvine shook his head, then shrugged with a huff. "Maybe." He sighed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. "_Yes_," he finally deduced, almost sullenly. She rubbed his arms gently, and kissed his nose again.

"Just do what feels right."

"But it _doesn't_ 'feel right', Sefie!" He was whining, and they both knew it, but he couldn't stop the edge in his voice that kept trying to say, "Tell me what I should do."

"What's it feel like?"

"Like I got kicked in the balls. Only less painful. Not really. Less _physically_ painful." She nodded a little, as though she understood completely.

"Have you talked to him?"

"Kinda." She cocked a brow, and he huffed. "Not really."

"So what're you doin' talkin' with me, silly? You should be talking to him about this." Irvine shook his head a little. She pouted, slapping his arm. "Why _not_?"

"I fuck things up." He laughed thickly, shaking his head. "Look at us. I _fuck things up_."

"You do not either, Irvine Kinneas." She slapped his arm again, harder than before; he cringed slightly, bringing up a hand to rub the offending hurt. With a smile, she bounced onto her toes and kissed him again, this time on the mouth.

They stood like that for a second, her hands on his shoulders and his hands on her elbows, a soft kiss between them, before she pulled away and quietly said, "Do you feel any better?"

"Not really."

"I have to get to class. Go and talk to Squally for me, okay?"

"Okay Sefie."


	8. Chapter 8

_One should not exaggerate the importance of trifles. Life, for instance, is much too short to be taken seriously._

_—Nicolas Bentley_

Chapter Eight

The year came and went. Irvine was not entirely sure where he and Squall stood in their . . . whatever it was they had. Two more SeeD exams were held—and Irvine had six more graduates—and then, all of a sudden, it was his twenty-fifth birthday.

They went to Dollet, stayed at a pub-inn complex that they all rather enjoyed. There was no gift giving—Irvine said it always made him feel like a kid, and he didn't enjoy feeling like a kid—and no real 'party' atmosphere. Instead, they sat and talked and commiserated the short comings of the year. It was almost like the orphanage gang was back together—now with the new addition of Hillary.

Somehow, the topic of conversation got onto relationships and marriage and other such nonsensical things. Selphie, truly fixated with the conversation, sprawled over one of the beds in one of the rooms they'd rented and asked Zell and Hillary, "When's the wedding?"

"Uh—."

"Before the baby," Hillary laughed, caressing her stomach slightly. It had swollen a little over the past few months, and all of sudden, Irvine had that spark of knowledge as Zell blushed and Quistis and Selphie laughed.

"You _dog_," Irvine congratulated, slapping Zell on the shoulder. Hillary laughed softly, and said they were thinking that sometime in the spring would be good.

They spoke of such things for a while—or rather, Hillary, Quistis and Selphie spoke of such things, while Zell, Squall and Irvine sat off and watched them with a certain trepidation that one normally reserves for particularly brutal and horrific battle sites—until Selphie suddenly sat up and asked Squall, "Have you and Irvy talked about gettin' hitched?"

Squall just about choked on his own breath, if the slight widening his eyes was any indication. Irvine swore, and ducked his head, before hurrying to his feet and waving his hands dismissively.

"Sefie, Sefie. It's nothing like that. Go back to talking about i real /i weddings 'kay? Our . . . _thing_ isn't for you to bring up." He stretched needlessly and quietly said, "I'm gonna go get some fresh air. Be right back."

He hurried out, his gut all knotted and suddenly worried that everything was going to go marvelously awry at any second. The balcony just off the hallway had a ladder that led to the roof; Irvine scaled it quickly, and collapsed onto a patio chair that had seen much better days. It groaned under his weight, the sound drowned under his self-deprecating laughter.

After several minutes, there was a groan on the ladder. Irvine looked up, peering around the edge of his hat and through his bangs, and snorted a little to see Squall hauling himself onto the roof gracefully. Slowly, he removed his hand and played with the band on it, before slamming it back onto his head.

With a quiet laugh, he said, "Sorry about her."

"Why?" Irvine looked up slowly. Squall's gunmetal eyes caught the street-lamp lights, reflecting crescents of golden light. He shrugged and said, "We aren't exactly doing anything to discourage ideas like that."

"Should we be?" The words were quiet and out before Irvine could think them through. Squall sat in a fellow over-abused patio chair, leaning over his knees. Irvine watched him closely, wondering if maybe everyone was right and they should just get it done with and make it formal.

But whenever that thought came to mind, his throat would clench and he would simply worry himself to an endless distraction.

"I don't know what we're doing," Squall suddenly said into the silence. He looked over at Irvine, shaking his head a little. "Do you?"

"I can't even keep a relationship going this long."

"Selphie—."

"Okay, correction: I can't keep a _single, monogamous_ relationship going this long." Squall gave a quiet snort of laughter, shook his head and let his hair fall into his eyes. Irvine just watched him for a second, before laughing a little himself. "It's funny, right? Not even that long, and everybody has it i fixed /i that we need to make this some sort of Serious Commitment."

The capitols on those words were blinding and sharp, made Squall look up and over at him, then away and up at the sky.

"What's today?" he asked out of nowhere. Irvine worried his lip.

Finally, he deduced, "It's after midnight, so November Twenty-fifth." He looked up at the stars very slowly, watched a meteor streak across the inky blackness and sighed quietly. "You ever wonder what it'd be like if we'd not been all split up when we were kids."

"It's in the past."

"You don't like the past much, do you?"

Squall shrugged, cradling his head in his hands. "You can't do anything about the past, can you?"

"_We_ could've."

"What would that have done, though? If we'd fucked things up when we'd been in Laguna and Kiros and Ward's heads, we'd have just . . . fucked things up."

"You wouldn't be here."

Squall snorted, looking over at Irvine. "Is that a good thing?"

"No." The word slipped out without thought, but Irvine meant it, even when Squall met his eye. With a smile, Irvine quietly said, "I want you here."

"_Really_."

"Yeah." He tried to put a vindication into his voice, but managed only slightly pouting peevishness. "You're _entertaining_, Mr Commander, sir."

"Is that all?" Irvine shrugged, smiling slightly across the darkness at Squall. There was a short burst of laughter from the brunette, and then he stood, stretching widely. "Come on. Everybody will be thinking we're doing obscene things up here if we don't get back soon."

"We aren't?" Irvine managed as he sprang to his feet and grabbed Squall around the middle. Squall made an indignant little sound, tensing for an instance as Irvine nuzzled at his neck a little and quietly said, "You didn't give me a birthday present, you know."

"Get off, you horny pervert." But Squall made no moves to remove himself from Irvine's embrace.

Somewhere nearby, despite the hour, there was music playing. Irvine chuckled softly against Squall's neck, humming along with the tune as he swayed gently to the music and dragging the young Commander along with him. Squall let out a nearly exasperated sigh, turning in Irvine's hold and giving him a very serious look.

"I don't dance."

"I'm sure you're a wonderful dancer."

"No, really. Two left feet. _I don't dance_." Irvine rolled his eyes, leaning his forehead down to Squall's. His hat titled precariously atop his head, shading them from the moonlight. Squall's breath puffed along Irvine's lips, and he smiled slightly.

"Everybody can dance," Irvine supplied. Squall huffed tiredly, shaking his head a little. He pushed against Irvine's chest, breaking the circle of his arms. Irvine made no qualms, did not attempted to pull Squall back in; he shrugged, righted his hat, and stepped toward the ladder that led to the hallway landing. For a moment, Squall looked genuinely confused, before shrugging it off as well and climbing down after the redhead.

At the landing, Irvine shyly captured Squall's hand, gripping it tightly. He leaned in, stole a quick peck to Squall's lips, and then smiled stupidly for a moment. Squall blinked at him, then slowly slid his fingers between Irvine's.

He tugged him along, toward where they could hear the others raucously celebrating Irvine's now spent birthday.

"Can we kick them out of my room and into their own?"

"It's your birthday." A shy yet decidedly wicked smile broke in Squall's eyes as he leaned in to Irvine's chest and said quietly, "And I still haven't given you your present."

* * *

When they returned from their impromptu break, all returned to the way it was. They returned in the wee hours of the morning, and while the others slipped off to their apartments to catch some much needed sleep before classes began later in the day, Squall said he had to make sure that his desk wasn't completely overflowing, and Irvine volunteered to help carry anything back to his apartment that needed to be immediately looked over. 

It was really only a subtle ploy to make sure he ended up spending the night in Squall's bed, and it wasn't terribly subtle at that. Squall made sure Irvine was well aware of his knowledge of Irvine's ploy on the elevator.

Simione, of course, was away from the desk, which meant there was no awkward confusion on her behalf when Irvine scurried after Squall off the elevator, laughing and grabbing for the brunette, who so much dared as _smiled_ and opened his office door one-handed, tugging at Irvine's jacket.

The light in Squall's office was on, and he faltered in his steps as he noticed that. Irvine stumbled, nearly asking what Squall was waiting for, until his eyes alighted along the same vein as Squall's.

Sitting atop the desk, flipping through a few of the miscellaneous papers strewn there, was Rinoa, looking harried and forlorn. She looked up, eyes only for Squall for all of the half moment it took her to notice his hand tangled in Irvine's jacket and Irvine's hands snaked around Squall's waist.

Irvine flinched away from him as if burnt. He licked his lips nervously, and quietly said, "I'll see you later, then." Louder, as he tipped his hat, he said, "Hey Rinoa. Glad to see you're doing well."

"Kinneas." There was an edge to her voice that Irvine _knew_ was the Sorceress in her. He forced a smile for the both of them, stepped out into the reception area, and closed the door soundly before him.

Twenty minutes later, he sat on his bed, polishing the Exeter and wondering why he couldn't sleep and his stomach felt like it had been tied into a thousand little, grating knots. The read of his clock, across the blank expanse of his ceiling, said it was quarter passed three in the morning. His mind couldn't quite stop racing long enough for him to quiet down and get to sleep.

Rinoa was there. Squall _loved_ her. And, for all their camaraderie and affection, Irvine knew—as far as he _could_ know—that he had no hold and sway on Squall. He knew, as only one in his position could know, that once Rinoa made it known that she wanted to try it all again there would be no place left for Irvine's misguided affections.

It . . . stung a little. Like being too long under Poison, until you were weak and pitiful and not even an Esuna and three Curagas could help bring the vitality back into your step. It stung like losing your memories did.

There was magic in his veins, the sharp thrill of Diablos deep in the back of his mind. He made a very conscious effort, then finally removed the GF from his system. Left behind was a hollow ache in his joints, and the slim crystal that was Diablos that applied to his skin and now sat forlornly on his bedspread.

The call buzzed annoyingly. He wondered why he hadn't had that changed yet.

At the door stood Squall, looking frustrated and out of sorts. He looked up at Irvine, lounged in the doorway, and quietly asked, "Can I come in?"

Irvine stepped aside. He set his coffee machine to percolating without any prompt, and sat on his couch. Squall stood in the doorway as the door slid shut and blanketed them in darkness. Then Irvine heard him move across the room, and felt him settle down beside him. They sat at a distance.

"What'd she have to say?"

". . . I don't know." Irvine could hear the shrug in his voice. He sighed, peered at Squall's silhouette in the darkness, wondered how someone could _not know_ what the woman of their life wanted from them as they sat in the darkness.

From nowhere, Squall asked, "Does this mean anything to you?"

"What? Rinoa showing up?"

"_Us_." Irvine held in the laughter. Barely.

"Is there an Us, Squally?" He could feel Squall rotate, look at him in the darkness. His eyes seemed to glow with the preternatural energy of his GFs. With a sigh, Irvine said, "Look. I . . . don't know. I don't. If there's an Us, then cool beans, but I've had an Us, and I fucked it over, and I just—."

"Is there an Us to fuck over?"

"Maybe?" The coffee machine buzzed quietly. Irvine shot to his feet, trying to welcome the distraction. His throat and chest were tight. When Irvine offered, Squall took the steaming cup of coffee, only to set it onto the low sidetable beside the couch and stare through the darkness at Irvine.

"Irvine . . . I know Rinoa loves me. And I love her."

"Then what's the question? If you've got it figured out, then what's stopping you?" There might have been frustration in his voice. There probably was; Irvine was too tired and confused with himself to know or care.

"Because I _don't know_ . . ." Squall made a frustrated noise. Irvine sighed, set his coffee aside, and rounded his coffee table.

He grabbed Squall's hands, and leaned in very close.

"The way I see it, you've got two choices," he explained breathlessly. "Choice Number One—you go with Rinoa. She makes you happy, and you make her happy, and the two of you are happy and wonderful and have happy, wonderful kids that make your dad a happy, wonderful gran'pa, and you generally enjoy life, as much as you can. It's a nice life, you know, and everybody thinks you're real smart and real great, like they already do. Maybe you two grow old together. Maybe you see your own gran'kids and great-gran'kids and stuff of nonsense."

"I like that choice," Squall quietly said, his words a puff of humid breath across Irvine's face. He was quiet, then asked, "What's the other choice?"

"Choice Number Two—you don't go with Rinoa. You stick around with me, and you don't know how that ends."

Squall was very quiet, then groaned in frustration. "Why are you _trying_ to make the first option sound better than the second one?"

"Why do you so _not_ want to take an obvious good choice?"

"Because I don't _know_ that I'll be happy with her!"

"You love her," Irvine justified simply. He could feel the annoyance and confusion radiating off Squall.

So when Squall snapped, "What if I love you too?" Irvine didn't so much as blink. He shrugged one shoulder, removed his hands from Squall's, and moved away. The tightness was there, thick and invasive, and he couldn't quite understand why he was so loathe to take what was being freely given.

That was a lie. He was frightened. Selphie had loved him, and look what he had done. Already he knew how Squall would respond to any infidelity. How could Squall say he loved him when he i knew /i what that would get him into.

"Squall—," Irvine began, wrenchingly slow and unsure. He stumbled on his words for a while, before sighing, and saying, "Do what's right."

"I _don't know_ what that is, Kinneas."

"It's what feels right," Irvine murmured with a shrug.

There was a heavy silence, then the sound of Squall standing and trumping over to Irvine. His lips were sudden and hot, and the cabinet that housed Irvine's coffee machine and his mug shifted with the force of Squall's body against Irvine's. After a moment of the swift movement of Squall's tongue between Irvine's teeth, the brunette pulled away; Irvine trailed after him with a soft sound, his eyes slowly slatting open.

Squall's hands were tight in the fabric across Irvine's shoulders. He gritted, "That _feels right_." He shook his head, then contradicted himself with, "But kissing Rinoa feels right too."

"I'm all for sharing." It held none of the humor Irvine had hoped for, and instead fell flat between them. In the silence that marred them, Irvine finally sighed. He picked Squall's hands from his shoulders and said, "Give it a few days. Just . . . think about it."

"I don't want to think about it; it makes it complicated."

"News flash!" Irvine snapped, pulling away from Squall and throwing his arms up in despair. "Life is complicated. And sometimes, you have to make that jackass complicated choice that doesn't feel like a good choice. But then you make it." He uttered a soft, almost hysterical laugh. "And then everything's okay."

"Everything is _not_ okay."

Irvine pressed his hands to Squall's shoulders, directing him in backward steps toward the door. "You should be going, right? I'm sure the Princess is waiting for her Knight."

"Irvine—."

"I'll see you. Later. Today, tomorrow, whatever. I'll come by." The door slid open, and Squall stepped into the hall. Irvine forced a smile in the light and quietly said, "Go catch up with your Princess."

The door slid closed. The metal was cold under Irvine's palms as he slid down to his knees and wondered what idiocy had fallen over his pitiful life to purposefully shove away something like _that_.


	9. Chapter 9

_We must rediscover the distinction between hope and expectation._

_—Ivan Illich_

Chapter Nine

The cigarette, after nearly ten months, tasted bitter and wonderful, the sharp smoke and nicotine hitting him like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he was breathless, and then it was all the simple matter of breathing in slowly with those long drags off the cigarette, letting his smoke drift listlessly toward the ceiling of his bedroom.

He hadn't bothered to open a window. Perhaps there was some small part of him that hoped that he'd be able to smoke enough to feel the cavernous space of his apartments and smother out the pitiful existence that he was becoming.

Really, it was all quite juvenile and foolish. He wondered where he had gotten the delusion that he could ever be _happy_ with just one person, and decided he'd rather not know. It was probably some survival instinct he had long since tried to quell—he was a sniper, a lone-wolf. He didn't need someone around him at all times, just a casual acquaintance to warm his bed on overly lonely nights. The idea that there was Someone for him was foolish; he wasn't made for it.

Or was it just that he'd told himself that for so long that he sabotaged every attempt he made? A part of him supposed that was much more likely.

He drew another cigarette from the pack, twirled it between his fingers, and wondered if he had any beer. He was thankful it was a holiday; Quistis would have had his hide for his over indulgence if he had been jipping classes to lull in his mild depression.

Once again, he was a hermit. Nobody seemed to notice this time. There was no brief concern from Squall, however misplaced; no tried condolences from Selphie or Quistis or Zell. He hadn't so much as thought of calling Seifer, who no doubt would have told him to get over himself. And while it was peaceful to be left to his own devises, it was disconcerting to be left alone with his thoughts.

The smoke, blue-gray and hazy, floated across his ceiling in listless circles, rotated by the fan in his front room. He couldn't say that he was _depressed_—he'd been depressed, when he'd been young, when his mother had died and all he had left was Galbadia Garden and _Martine_—because there were no excuses, no real attempts to take his life. But he was _sullen_, listless like the smoke from his cigarettes. Completely detached.

His call buzzed. He remained strewn across his bed, trying to ignore it. After the third press to the button, he clambered slowly to his feet, trudged into the front room, opened the door, and began his quick retreat to his bed without looking to see who it was.

There was a grumble behind him, his guest marching across the front room to throw open a window and begin airing out the apartment of the blue-gray smoke. Irvine lounged back against his pillows and puffed nonsensically at his cigarette. It was one of the last five or so in the pack.

A black-gloved hand grabbed the pack and crumpled it defiantly. Irvine didn't even bother to muster a glare. He sighed, slowing his drags at the cigarette, and quietly asked, "What can I do for you, Mr Commander?"

"You're being childish."

". . . probably," Irvine agreed, licking his lips and smothering the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray. He stretched widely, and finally looked up at Squall's stormy expression. "But that doesn't explain why you're here. You should be spending time with Rinoa."

"I sent her home." Irvine had nothing to say to that. Squall stared down at him for a moment, before frowning even more darkly and pointing toward Irvine's bathroom door. "Go shower and wash out your mouth. You smell like an ashtray."

"It's my mouth," Irvine objected, crossing his arms over his stomach and reclining back into the comforting embrace of his pillows and headboard. The bed sank as Irvine shut his eyes and floated in the comforting haze of having just chain-smoked seven cartoons of cigarettes.

But his eyes bolted open when Squall delivered a rough punch to his shoulder. He flinched, brows furrowed together as he gripped his arm—as if that would do any help—and demanded, "What the hell was that for?"

"You're being an asshole. Stop it."

Irvine waved about, inarticulate for a moment, before angrily squeaking out, "_Punching_ me is going to make me _not_ an asshole?"

"Go take a shower."

"_Fuck you_!" He kicked Squall in the hip, shoving him off the bed. "Who are you to complain about _my_ personal standards of hygiene? I think I smell _just fucking fine_."

"I'm your—."

"If you say 'commanding officer', I will jump up and cap your ass."

Squall was quiet for a very long time, just staring at Irvine, before saying, "That wasn't what I was going to say." Irvine made a mocking noise of agreement, rolling his eyes, which only made Squall scowl and clench his fists until the leather of his gloves creaked. "You're being childish."

"We went over that already." Irvine stood, grabbing the ashtray and dumping it into the waste bin beside the vid-comm desk, then standing there with one hand planted on desktop.

"Irvine," Squall began, steel in his voice.

"What?"

"Will you _please_ take a shower? You've been sitting in here for almost three days, nobody's seen you, and if you come out of here smelling like cheap booze and cigarettes—."

"Then nobody will think any different," Irvine said, turning and meeting Squall's gaze pointedly. "What do you want, okay? No point beatin' around the bush: _what do you want_?"

Very quietly, Squall said, "I don't know," shaking his head and shifting somehow lower into Irvine's bed. He wrinkled his nose, obviously tried to only breath through his mouth; Irvine threw open the bedroom window with a quiet scoff.

He was shucking his clothes long before he reached the bathroom door, and stopped, naked, in the doorway to look over his shoulder and say, "When I get outta here, you better fucking know."

* * *

"Irvine."

He looked up at Zell's worried voice, cocking a brow.

"What's up?"

"Squall's facin' shit. You . . . you need to get up there."

"Wha—?" He was already on his feet, grabbing his practice rifle and hurrying toward the door. They walked, full abreast, to the elevator and road in silence. Even when Irvine prompted, Zell wouldn't say a thing about why there was such a hurry.

When they got off on the third floor, just as the elevator doors slid open, Irvine could hear the hysterical voices of at least four young women. Zell wouldn't meet his eyes, and Irvine _knew_, then, that something was definitely up. He hurried over, opening the office doors and marching in quickly.

There were, in fact, seven girls. Headed by Leena Worthily and Marissa Ganover, who stood braced and ready at Squall's desk. They were SeeDs now, and all regaled. Most of the other girls were former students of Irvine's, from just before the purge of his classes a year earlier. There were other girls, ones he didn't really recognize. And, standing in their midst, was Simione, looking unsure and harried.

Squall saw Irvine first, and his eyes immediately said, "Get _out_." But by the time Irvine was thinking of leaving, Leena had peered along the vein of his sights and laid eyes on Irvine as well. Her makeup was smudged with tears, but she mustered a proud—if watery—smile.

"Good. I was beginning to think the scum wouldn't show up."

"Commander," Irvine began very slowly, very carefully, staying just where he was and trying to ignore the tears on so many young faces. "May I ask why I've been called in?"

"These . . . young ladies. They've filed complaints against you." There was a stony edge to Squall's voice. Irvine took a cautious step toward Squall's desk, looking over the girls. He knew perhaps five of them; the other two he hadn't a clue about. Simione was the only one who looked at all uncomfortable with the situation, as though she'd much rather be sitting at her desk than doing something like this.

Something was wrong. Off. He looked back at Squall very slowly.

"Complaints?"

"Like Miss Gordon's. No, more severe." Squall was very quiet, then said, "They said you raped them."

For a moment, Irvine only gaped. In Galbadia, rape was an offense punishable by death; in Balamb, you were arrested and imprisoned for life. Squall, after hearing each girl's reiteration with Irvine in the office and sending the girls on their way, did neither, but stared at Irvine powerful, as though waiting for an excuse or explanation.

Irvine had neither. He stared at Squall incredulously, made a wide, sweeping gesture and grumbled, "You don't honestly believe—?"

"I don't know what to believe."

"Squall," Irvine attempted, stepping up to the desk and planting his hands hard on the top. He leaned in as close as he dared, and said quietly, "You know me. Do you _really_ think I could _rape_ someone?"

"Did you have their consent to have sex with them?"

"I didn't _have sex_ with most of them!" Irvine complained. He groaned under his breath, shook his head, said, "I don't _know_ two of those girls, and most of them were too young for me to be interested in. Yeah, I had sex with Worthily and Ganover."

"And my secretary?"

"I never so much as _touched_ Simione." He shook his head, laughed incredulously. "She's got a thing for Zell; I respect that. Sure, if she'd been interested, but she _wasn't_." Slowly, he looked up at Squall, letting out a hysterical little snort of a laugh. "I didn't rape anybody."

"I believe you."

"No you _don't_," Irvine spat. He straightened, before his knees could give out on him, and shook his head in a tired sort of way. "Look. I didn't do anything that they're claiming I did. I'm innocent, at least in this. And I know that you're pissed off with me—."

"I'm not pissed off." The tone of Squall's voice said otherwise. Irvine scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. I'm gonna go shoot things in the Training Center. When you decide to can my ass, like I know you want to, you come find me."

* * *

"Irvine?"

He looked up sharply at that gentle alto voice, and peered over his shoulder at the silhouette that stood at the opening that led to and from the 'secret spot' off the Training Center. He didn't say anything, even when she came and stood beside him, until the silence became too uncomfortable for either of them.

She looked up at him and asked, "How have you been?"

"Pretty shitty," he genuinely answered, nodding decisively. He peered at her out of the corner of his eye and said, "Squall said he'd sent you home, last time we talked."

"He did. He doesn't know I'm here. I'm visiting Selphie." She was quiet, staring at her hands. Her nails were done, but one was broken; presumably, she'd encountered something on her way from the gate to where they now stood. After a moment, she said, "We haven't talked much since you were made a SeeD."

"That's because you decided I was an insufferable pig for breaking Selphie's heart."

"You _are_ an insufferable pig for breaking Selphie's heart." He chuckled softly, nodding his agreement. She watched him, then quietly asked, "But you're both still friends, right?"

"Yeah. I mean, not like we were. But sure. I mean . . . I still love her and everything. Just not like that."

"Oh."

There was something about the way she made that one sound that made him turn his back to the wall that closed in the 'secret spot' and look down at her with an almost brotherly camaraderie. Quietly, he said, "Squall still loves you."

"I know," she said very softly to her fingers. Slowly, she looked up at him. "Do you love him?"

"Does it matter?" Gently, he touched her cheek, smiling a little. "I mean, he's got you. What else is there to look for?"

"He loves you, you know. And not like he loves everybody else. Not like he loves _me_. He loves me because . . . because everybody tells him to. And because I saved him. He needs me, kind of, and he loves me. But . . . like a child loves." She smiled at him a little and continued, "But you. You make him crazy. I could get him to smile, sure, but so can a mother get a stubborn child to smile. You . . . make him who he is. On the inside."

"Insufferable and overbearing?"

"He has to protect you," she explained softly. She removed his hand, and held it gently in hers. "He's scared of losing the people he loves. He lost his family, and Ellone, and all of you. He can't lose you again. And because he _loves you_, he has to hold onto you even stronger than he holds on to anybody else."

"But I—." He floundered for a moment, before pulling on the only argument he could even think of. "_I like women_."

She stared at him stupidly for a second, before laughing that, bright, wonderful laugh of hers. It did nothing to lift his spirits.

"Does it matter?"

"_Yes_." She sighed, shaking her head a little. He took his hand from hers and said, "I can't . . . not with Squall. He's . . . I can't do that with him." The look she suddenly acquired—a look he'd seen so many times on his adoptive mother's face and written across the fae lines of Selphie's eyes—clearly complained about _men_ and their inability to _think_.

He huffed then, crossing his arms over his chest and demanding to know, "Why _is_ it that both you and Squall are willing to push the other away so he can have _me_? You two are, like . . . _perfect_."

"Maybe that's why."

Irvine was very quiet, before saying in the general direction of his boots, "Squall needs stability. And you can give that, even when you're traveling all the time."

"You're here, though," Rinoa pointed out. "Sure, you have the occasional mission or two, but you live here. You're very stable for him."

"He adores you. _Everybody_ adores you." Irvine snorted, and jokingly muttered, "Hey, Laguna even thinks you're hot like your mom. That's good for Squall, too—the adoring you part, not the Laguna-thinks-you're-hot part."

"I figured," she said with a laugh. She touched his arm and quietly retorted, "But he adores you too."

"We're dysfunctional. I mean . . . he's _him_, what with the frustrating lack of being able to speak in complete sentences for longer than ten minutes, and the wandering around controlling mercenaries for giggles. And I'm me, what with my need to flirt with anything humanoid with a pulse and sleep with anything that will let me—."

"You never slept with me. Never even really flirted with me." Irvine stared at her for a minute, before smiling a little.

"You're on the List."

"_The List_?"

"It's a list of people I'm not allowed to sleep with because it would fuck my life over in grand, glorious and pain-inducing fashions. Squall's on there _three times_." She snorted a little, then forewent formality and simply laughed. He smiled gently, shrugging one shoulder and playing with the brim of his hat idly.

"But you're not dysfunctional, Irvine. You're . . ."

"Wrong in the head?"

"I was going to say 'different' or 'unique' or something, but since you seem so keen and giving yourself a royal self-esteem ass kicking, I won't stop you." She smiled, and wrapped her arms suddenly around his neck. "You're such a goony bird."

"Goony bird?" He shook his head a little, removing his hat and placing it on her head. "You've been spending too much time around Sephie."

"But it's true. I don't get it." She smiled a little, resting her head on his breast bone. "You've known him since you were about two feet tall, you've fought along side him, you _love_ him. But you're just as willing to give him up as he is willing not to let you go."

"I can't give him what he needs."

She looked up. "And what do you think that is, huh, Irvine Kinneas? A wife? Kids? What have I got that you don't that he wants so badly?"

"I . . . don't know."

"Then how can you say that?" She pillowed her head back on his chest. His arms slid slowly around her waist, holding her tenderly. "I want him to be happy, Irvine. No matter what happens."

There was a rustle and the sound of a branch snapping under weight just outside the little entrance. Irvine peered around his hat atop Rinoa's head, and caught Squall watching them curiously. He made to release the young, dark Galbadian girl, but she kept her arms firm around his neck, holding him still; she smiled at Squall, greeted him softly.

He said, "I wasn't sure if you'd be back."

"I'm visiting Selphie." He made a noncommittal sound, stepped up beside them and acted as though Irvine totally _wasn't_ wrapped up in his girlfriend (or what_ever_ she was now). There was a slightly uncomfortable silence, and then, "Do you and he need to—?"

"No. It's okay." Squall looked over, smiled very slightly, then pushed away from the wall. He met Irvine's eyes, and said, quite bluntly, "Come by tonight."

"Uh . . ." He could see Rinoa watching him closely from the corner of his eye, as though daring him to chicken out of Squall's invitation. Somehow, he summoned a smile. "Sure. Seven okay?"

"Make it six."

"Yeah."

And with Rinoa wrapped in his arms, he watched Squall leave them in peace.


	10. Chapter 10

_Men are rewarded and punished not for what they do, but rather how their acts are defined. This is why men are more interested in better justifying themselves than better behaving themselves_

_—Thomas Szasz_

**Chapter Ten**

The morning after Irvine's bizarre conversation with Rinoa in the Training Center, he stood looking into the mirror in Squall's bathroom, fingering the ends of his hair, listening to the thundering of water in the shower, and trying not to notice the rather large and _quite _noticeable bite he had just below his jawline on the right side of his neck; his collar would do nothing to cover it.

"I'm serious," he suddenly proclaimed with a huff, blindly tangling his hair into a braid. "I'm just going to cut it all off. That worked when I was a kid."

Squall, over the water, said, "The girls would like you less; you wouldn't be able to share hair care products."

Irvine flushed the toilet, and relished in Squall's surprised and pained yelp as the water ran hot. He left the bathroom humming, scouring the bedroom for his clothing; his uniform was rumpled and wrinkled, but that was nothing new.

Squall came out of the shower, dripping wet, naked and running his fingers through his hair. It was a pleasant sight, and Irvine's hands stilled on his tie as he just watched the wiry brunette go about collecting his leathers.

Suddenly, Squall seemed to notice he was being watched. He turned, cocking a brow at Irvine. The redhead chuckled humorlessly, flicked his hair out from his jacket, and settled a knee onto the bed to lean over and kiss Squall gently.

"Gotta motor."

"Yeah."

The day was, not surprisingly, completely uneventful—except for nearly getting shot twice by the _same _idiot Junior Classman. By lunch, Irvine was itching for something to happen to take his mind off that stupid conversation and Squall's strange behavior after finding them (though that night had, admittedly, been a _really _good night). But there was nothing—no recurrence of those hideous claims from the girls; no reiteration from Rinoa; and not even the vaguest sightings of Squall.

Long after the last of his classes was done for the day, he stood on the quad, fingers idling over a pack of cigarettes he couldn't quite bring himself to smoke. The label grinned at him like some sort of fiendish lecher, beckoning; and the addiction, under everything else, grinned right back. But his gut was tight and his head confused, and he didn't think smoking would help with this stress.

"Hey! Irvy!"

He turned to see Selphie bounding down the quads stairs at him, and only barely caught her when she tripped and stumbled, uttering a quick and utterly chipper, "Oops!" She smiled at him, straightening her skirt and dusting herself of nonexistent gunk; Irvine chuckled a little, the cigarette cartoon disappearing into his pocket.

"What's up?"

"We're going into Balamb. Wanna come?" From the look in her eyes, he didn't have much of a choice. He smiled a nodded, and she cheered thankfully, before turning away to rush back up the stairs. She called over her shoulder, "Go change, silly!"

He shook his head at her antics, but trudged off to his apartments to swiftly change from his Instructor's uniform to some normal civilian clothes. In the bathroom, as he washed his face, he found himself contemplating the length of his hair again, and frowned a little.

There was a pair of scissors in his desk. And if he came a bit later than everybody, it wasn't like they would think it any big thing . . .

He went to go find the scissors.

* * *

It felt almost like he was hiding, hat pulled low on his head as he scanned the bar for his friends. They were easy enough to find, once he caught Zell and Selphie's chipper voices over the din of the other patrons. Selphie was bouncing in her seat, waving energetically at him; he waved back with a more sedate enthusiasm, and wove his way over to their large booth. 

There were a few other Instructors that Irvine was friendly with, Xu and Hillary and Squall, and Rinoa tucked away between Selphie and Quistis, smiling and nursing a mixed drink of some sort. She smiled at Irvine as he grabbed a chair and hauled it over to sit in among the others.

When he didn't remove his hat instantly, Selphie rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Irvy. Stay a while." He chuckled slightly, playing with the brim for a second, before removing the hat and hanging it off the chair.

For a second, there was a slightly dumbfounded silence, before Xu incredulously gasped, "You're practically _bald_!"

Admittedly, he'd taken off a bit more than was probably necessary. And it was sloppy, because he'd done it blind and by himself. Still, he ran a hand over his much shortened hair, and quietly said, "It's still pretty long. I used to wear it like this—."

"When we were kids," Zell and Quistis said in stereo. Irvine just shrugged. After a couple more minutes of confusion and mild complaints from everyone, the conversations moved away from Irvine's hair and rose high over one another.

Squall was watching him carefully, nursing a beer slowly. Irvine cocked a brow, and excused, "I said I would."

"I didn't think you were serious." He was quiet, until: "It looks good," and he reached out, running a hand through Irvine's hair slowly, pinning it away from his face. He stayed like that for a while, before his hand fell away and he seemed to have gotten over his sudden fixation.

Rinoa was watching them, smiling slightly. Irvine shifted in his chair a little, and tried to ignore the tightness in his stomach.

An hour later, as he went up to get another round of drinks, Rinoa followed him, and settled on a barstool beside where he stood.

He quietly said, "I woulda thought you'd've headed home by now, Rinoa."

"Haven't had much time to catch up. I'm going tomorrow though." He nodded, drumming his fingers on the counter. "So, what brought on all of this?"

He shrugged, telling her about how he'd been complaining about his hair since Kiros and Laguna had spirited them off to Winhill, and had only now gotten up all the courage he needed to actually chop it off; now that it was done, he'd just trim it a bit, and not worry about it any longer.

She said, "I don't think I could cut my hair like that. I'd just feel . . . naked. I don't know how Selphie wears her hair so short."

"She always has. I did, until I was about fourteen or so; haven't cut it since then, so—." He broke off to take the tray of drinks from the waitress, smiling flirtatiously. She gave her own shy smile, blushing and hurrying off. As they walked back to the booth, he didn't bother to bring it back up.

As the night wore on, Irvine found himself under the random scrutiny of Squall's cool gaze. It wasn't until after they returned to Garden, though, that he finally asked what was up with all the staring.

"Zell and Quistis remember you having short hair," and he pinned the hair back again, "but I don't. It just looks strange. You don't look . . . right."

"It's just hair," Irvine said with a laugh. They stood outside Squall's door, leaning in closer than was probably necessary.

Squall looked away suddenly, grunting his agreement and nodding a little. Irvine sighed, put a smile on, and stepped away, saying, "I've got an early morning. I'll see ya."

"Yeah."

But Irvine stilled, that step away, and Squall didn't move to enter his apartments. The brunette seemed listless and out of sorts. Biting his lip, Irvine quietly offered, "Unless . . ."

"Do you want to come in?" Offers like that were normally subtle, shy attempts made by one to have the other stay over. Squall punched in his pass-code, and the door slid open with no prompt; Irvine followed the brunette in, flicking on the lights as Squall settled onto his couch and stared at his hands.

There was a heavy silence, until Squall said, "Rinoa came in today, to tell me what she'd been talking to you about."

"Oh." Squall was looking up at him then, watching him. Irvine ducked his head a little, scuffing his boot on the floor and trying to hide behind his hat now that he didn't have bangs to conceal his eyes. "Uh, look. I . . . . It's just that . . . and I . . ."

He trailed off into nothing, looking up at Squall, who stared at him evenly. After a moment, Irvine sighed, shrugging a little. The words wouldn't come to his lips the way he wanted them to, and they both knew it, even if they wouldn't say it.

Squall stood very slowly, staring at the wall boredly before turning toward Irvine. He stepped toward him and, much in the same way he had when Rinoa had found out about their 'affair' at the start, curled against Irvine's chest, hugging him about the neck and resting his head against Irvine's shoulder. With only the slightest hesitation, his own arms came slowly around Squall's waist.

"What are we doing?"

"We're _hugging_, bright one." Squall thumped Irvine in the back of the head for the wise-ass comment, but didn't pull away in the slightest. After a moment of silence, Irvine closed his eyes and rested his cheek against Squall's head, murmuring, "Haven't got a clue."

Squall moved as though to speak, but then fell silent, curling closer to Irvine's body. The redhead chuckled very softly, and said in a shy sort of voice, "I really do have an early start."

"I know." But he still didn't let go.

"Or . . . I could stay." Squall only nodded. A bottomless feeling came to Irvine's stomach, and it felt like his heart had thudded all the way up to his throat. His arms grew slowly tighter around Squall's middle, and he quietly said, "Want me to stay?"

Squall didn't say anything, just slid away a little and stepped toward his bedroom.

* * *

"I thought you had an early start." 

"I'm sick." He faked a cough, badly, and moved the frosted glass door away from the shower cubicle to smile at Squall disarmingly. "Besides. It's a weekend class. I only have the one."

"You're wasting my hot water."

"So get in here; it won't be wasting if we're both using it." Squall just shook his head, brushing his teeth. Irvine smiled, calling in a soft, sultry voice, "Squally."

"Shut up, Kinneas."

"I'll let you do your crazy thing with your crazy cold hands."

"They're warm," Squall muttered, tilting his head to check and make sure he'd shaved off all the stubble on his chin. Irvine pouted slightly. Water was beginning to leak off his arm and side and onto the floor.

"I'll let you pull my hair?"

"You've barely got any hair now."

Irvine didn't have much left. He squinted at the lithe brunette, and offered in an almost sullen voice, "I'll suck you off."

Squall's razor slipped on his skin a little, and a blossom of red came to his pale skin as he turned quickly and stared with an incredulous look on his face that was harbored somewhere between perverse attraction and woeful disgust. Irvine gestured at the cut on his neck as he slipped back behind the frosted glass. "Don't bleed out."

As he washed the shampoo out of his hair, Squall slid back the frosted glass door; so when Irvine opened one eye just a crack—the shampoo Squall bought stung like a _bitch _when it got in your eyes—Squall was just resting against the cold tile wall, looking slightly speculative, and perhaps a little bit shy. Irvine finished washing the shampoo out of his hair, then quietly asked, "What?"

"I . . ." He trailed off, that speculative look turning a little confused. Irvine chuckled, stepping closer so he could press an arm over Squall's head and lean in close.

"What? Rinoa never went down on you?" A slight blush came over Squall's cheeks, and Irvine's chuckle became a sultry, open-mouthed laugh. "You've been missin' out, buddy."

He didn't say anything. Just looked at Irvine through his hair and lashes and didn't even move. But there was that look his eyes, that slight smile that was a challenge, that made Irvine's stomach twist and knot and made a soppy grin break over his mouth as the water from the showerhead crashed around them and he slowly sank to his knees before the brunette.

* * *

One of the big things that drove people away from marksmanship was that they had PT with the martial combat students, because they were during the same hour. So every third Friday, they would march down to the track that had been set up in the Training Center—well away from Irvine's firing range, and where the monster area was—and Zell pushed them through drills like none other. 

Irvine had never really got why people were intimidated by this situation. He thought the arrangement quite well thought out and generally spectacular, mostly because it meant an hour where Zell had to teach his class _and _Irvine's. Quistis always said it was because Irvine had gone through intensive military training, so he was used to the vigor that Zell put into that PT session; Zell said it was because Irvine knew that tired muscles meant a good night sleep.

And they were both right.

When he'd mentioned his confusion fleetingly to Squall, the lean brunette hadn't even looked up from his papers. He said, "Your students expect guns and bullets. They expect sore shoulders and bruises and maybe a bullet wound in the foot or side. They don't expect a martial artist telling them they can do ten more push-ups and five more laps and still have energy in them. They aren't endurance fighters; they're hit-and-run."

And Squall, more than Quistis and Zell, was right. But Zell said that was because Squall was shagging Irvine; then again, he hadn't heard the Commander's words, so Irvine just kicked him in the shin with his steel-toed boots, and smiled winningly when Zell proceeded to try and bash his head into the ground.

There wasn't any secret any more, about what was happening. But Irvine didn't _know_ what was happening. Rinoa was still around, and there were no declarations of undying love—which was probably a good thing, because Irvine probably couldn't have handled that. They never really talked about it. When Rinoa was in Balamb to see Squall, Squall saw her, and Irvine went to bed after running the track and shooting a couple of targets all to holy hell; when Rinoa was in Balamb to see anyone else, or simply wasn't in Balamb . . . well, that was fine too, and in the morning Irvine would find himself in his or Squall's shower, trying to fake sick so he could drag Squall away from work and teach him the finer points of being sexually active.

He wondered, at times, if Squall and Rinoa had ever _done anything_, like he and Selphie had. He never brought it up.

His twenty-sixth birthday came and went. The SeeD arsenal grew with snipers and gunmen and other things from Irvine's program. Meya Gordon was appointed as an auxiliary for Irvine's program; he was defined as a Head of Department, much as Quistis.

One night, as Irvine lay in Squall's bed half naked and helped leaf through commission reports, he plucked up an interesting sheet and perused it idly. After a moment, he turned his attention more firmly onto the commission.

"What's this?" he asked. Squall peered at the paper, clearly only seeing the commissioner and the pay-slot.

"Something out near the Grandidi Forest," he muttered, tapping the paper with one slim finger. Irvine nodded, but kept staring at the report for a moment. "What?"

"It's from Esthar."

" . . . yeah."

"Why aren't you taking it?" Squall was blinking at Irvine when the redhead looked up, his hair hanging into his eyes (after chopping it all, he'd just let it grow back out; Quistis had said he was being stupid; Selphie had said he looked dashing with a T-boarder cut).

"It's not an important mission."

"Dude," Irvine said shortly. "It's your dad."

"He's a soldier. He's perfectly capable of taking care of—."

Irvine shoved the paper under Squall's nose, tapping it menacingly. Squall read through with quick eyes after a moment. Eyes that grew quicker with every pass, then finally stopped, and slowly lifted to Irvine's face.

"I'll take it."

Squall shook his head. "If this is all right, they're as organized as the _SeeDs _are. Not by yourself."

"Then send someone with me, but I'm taking it."

Squall agreed to send Irvine to Esthar.


	11. Chapter 11

**_This chapter contains character death!_**

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* * *

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_Death is one of two things. Either it is nothingness, and the dead have no consciousness of anything; or, as people say, it is a change and migration of the soul from this place to another._

_—Socrates_

**Chapter Eleven**

The commission report had been filed by one Kiros Seagill, Chief Adviser of the President of Esthar. There had been complaints for some time in Esthar of a radical group which compared the benevolence of President Loire to the tyrannical ways of Sorceress Adel. President Loire, in the early years of their insurgency—for this instance had been stretching for some time—had ordered the assassination of their leaders, with the greatest hesitation (a Galbadian sniper had been brought it). The group had used those assassination as the backing for some of their attacks on Central.

The President had been put under constant guard and surveillance, once again under great hesitation (and no doubt a whole shit load of complaints; Irvine remembered those guards, and remembered how annoyed Laguna had become every time he turned a corner or tried to lock a door and found more of those silent, stoic men standing there with impassive faces), for his protection. There were riots in Central and other, smaller Estharin villages. Several innocent people were killed, and the blame placed on the Esthar Volunteer Army. President Loire had disbanded the army, under pressure and much less hesitation.

Then, the attacks had begun. Advisers and their families were being blackmailed by the radical group; women and children in villages were being held hostage, and then killed even after the President negotiated their release. There were bombings of food transportation. The radical group began to breed the seeds of bigoted hatred in the Estharin people.

On one outing from Central, the President's convoy was attacked. President Loire had been grievously injured, as well as sixteen other officials. One Ward Zabac, also a Chief Adviser to the President, had been killed. The radical group and its supports had been flushed out of Esthar; they had fled the confines of the nations capitol area; north, into the holy Grandidi Forest.

Trabia had villages in the northern reaches of the Grandidi. Because of the seclusion from other areas, they relied on Esthar as their main source for food and supplies; in return, Trabia traded weapons stock and other such things to Esthar for their army, despite its disbandment.

It was the belief of the Estharin Advisers, Kiros in particular, that the next attack would be on the train line that ran between Central and the Trabian town in Grandidi. There was to be a transport of weaponry from Trabia into Esthar, as President Loire was making moves to rebuild the army as a compulsory fixture, and needed to strengthen the military base with supplies. It was supposed that the insurgents would do anything they could to stop such a transport, attempt to overthrow the government in a coup d'etat and return Esthar to its xenophobic mannerisms.

The missions itself was perhaps childish to an untrained ear. Entailed was the idea that several SeeDs—paid quite handsomely from the Estharin Treasury—would be placed on the transport train to arrest and/or kill any insurgents that attempted to hijack or destroy the train. However, there were several layers to this.

The first, and most obvious, was that the transport was a civilian train line. Because Esthar and Trabia were both so basically demilitarized, everything was handled by such lines; and the only line that went through straight to Central was a line that ran as civilian transport. There were to be no civilian casualties, except those of the insurgents.

The second, and perhaps more dangerous, was that there was nothing defining about the insurgents. They did no go about boasting their alliances, nor waving about machine guns and speaking of coups. Most of them were average work-a-days, and a select few were defectors from various military groups around the world. Because of this, they were unpredictable and considered hostile; these were men and women driven into a corner, and cornered animals had a tendency to fight harder than ones that could freely run.

Commander Leonheart, all of twenty-six years old and son of President Loire of Esthar, assigned fifteen young SeeDs onto the transport. Most were green, having seen only their final exam mission and perhaps one or two other, smaller ones. But two of them were no fresh leaves blown into the wind by their commanding officer.

The first was Selphie Tilmet. She was young, competent, and deadly with nunchaku and GFs. She was to man a group of six Junior SeeDs to cover the front half of the train, including the passenger areas and engine room.

The second was Irvine Kinneas, a bright and brilliant sharpshooter who had been trained in Galbadia and had become a SeeD late in his life; and though slower with magic and GFs, he was a force to be reckoned with. His group of seven Junior SeeDs was to watch over the carrier cars, to make sure the weaponry being brought in was safe and untreated and that there were no stow-aways on the train.

It was a basic mission. Enter, and arrest. It should have been easy.

But Irvine had learned, early in life, that those were damning words.

* * *

"Having fun?"

Selphie turned and smiled at Irvine, nodding enthusiastically. "The scenery out here is so _pretty_," she said, bouncing on her toes and humming tunelessly as she watched thick trees whip passed the train's windows.

"I'm surprised how little damage they did to the area. It's peaceful."

She looked up at him, taking in the somber lines of his face. Then, she grinned knowingly and elbowed him in the gut. When he looked down at her, she winked. "Missing Squally already?"

He only rolled his eyes, knowing it was worthless to argue with the younger girl. He leaned his back against the window, staring at the corridor wall stupidly. Selphie returned to humming and murmuring quietly to herself about the scenery and the train ride. A couple of their subordinates wandered by, saluting them tiredly.

It was a six hour train ride from pick-up to drop-off, and there had been an eerie silence for the two hours they'd been on the train. They wouldn't even break the line of the forest for another two or three hours, depending on the number of monsters impeding their path; then, it was a winding line down to Central.

"Think anything will happen?" Selphie asked of Irvine, though she stayed faced to the window. He shrugged.

"Maybe not." He smiled a little, stretching widely. "At least we're not in uniform for this mission. Though I have to admit, I don't really fit the part of an Estharin countryman; I'd've been better off as some sorta bastard Trabian."

"Well, you work with what you got." She ruffled his hair, and said, "At least it's not so long any more. Easier to tuck up and everything." He smiled a little, grabbing her hand and kissing her fingers. A quiet sigh left her lips in listless nostalgia, and then disappeared to the stagnant air.

After a while, she said, "You're antsy. You should call Squally."

"He'll chew me out." She cocked a brow at him, and Irvine sighed. "Why does everyone think everything I say is a euphemism?" When she looked ready to answer, he jabbed a finger at her and said, "Don't answer that."

Then, he wandered off, returning to the baggage car. It was _cold_ there, and poorly insulated, but it was quiet enough and nobody really came in. Not even Irvine's men.

He pulled out his portable phone and quickly dialed Squall's private line. When he got the audio machine, he hung up, and dialed again for Squall's office line through the front desk.

Simione picked up, and was obviously perturbed that she couldn't see the caller. "Balamb Garden, Headmaster and Commanders' Offices. This is Simione, how might I direct your call?"

"Simione, it's Irvine." She breathed a sigh of relief. "Is Squall in his office?"

"He is, Instructor. Would you like me to patch you through?" Her voice echoed with the relief which had permeated her every step after Marissa Ganover and Leena Worthily's attempt to ruin Irvine's reputation had been thwarted. He replied affirmatively, and there was a quiet buzz as the call was transferred.

Squall answered briskly. "Why are you wasting my good money to call me when you're going to see me in a few days?"

"Well, fine. I was going to talk dirty for you, but if you're going to be so frigid about it, I'll call Seifer and talk to him." Squall let out a quiet sigh, and Irvine could hear the scratch of his pen dying off. There was a click—Squall must have picked up the phone instead of keeping it on speaker—and then dead silence.

"Hi," Squall finally muttered.

"Hello yourself, sexy. Missed me?"

"Not really," Squall said with a quiet, almost reluctant sigh. Irvine made a quiet noise of disbelief.

"What, is Rinoa in town? Are you gettin' _laid_?"

"You're horrible." But there was a laughing edge to those words. It made Irvine smile a little. "How's the mission so far?" Trust Squall to kill a mood.

"We've been on a train for two hours. How do you _think_ it's been?"

"Everything under control?"

"Yop. Not an insurgent in sight. Selphie's convinced it's not for real; just a threat, yo. No biggie. We should be home right on time." He let that sit, before lowering his voice and huskily saying, "You waitin' up for me?"

"Not likely. But I promise to be appropriately _up_ when you manage to barge into my apartments and jump into my bed."

"That's a good boy." There was another bout of silence, then Irvine smiled, and leaned back against somebody's luggage. "So. What're you wearing?"

". . . my uniform."

"Nothin' else?" Irvine was enjoying his little game, no matter its lack of subtlety. He wasn't paid to be subtle. He was paid to blow big fucking holes in things.

"You're a pervert."

"Mhm. A pervert who, I'm guessing, is going to be bent over your vid-comm desk as soon as I get back." There was a slight hitch in Squall's breath—inhale through the mouth, and his lips would part just a little. Irvine allowed himself a sly little grin. "Gah, getting fucked is sounding like a _really_ nice idea right now."

"You better be somewhere where nobody can hear you," Squall hissed. Irvine assured him that he was, shaking his head slightly.

"Besides," Irvine laughed, "everybody knows."

"Random civilians don't."

"You might wanna make that announcement to Esthar at some point. Being the Once and Future King's Son and all."

Irvine was about to say more, when he heard a sudden bout of noise from up near the front of the next car. He furrowed his brow, slowly raising, and, ignoring whatever Squall had just said, quietly murmured, "I'll call you back."

He clicked the phone shut, tucked it among his things, and grabbed the Exeter.

And as he stepped into the next car, 'basic' was shot all to holy hell.

* * *

He awoke in a hospital room, listening to the slightly erratic bleep-blip of his heart. Everything felt torn and bruised; like he'd been thrown up against a wall and then stomped on by a good fifty-ton something-or-another for good measure after he hit the floor. He could feel bandages and broken bones, and tried to remember what had happened.

Kiros, Squall, and a wheel-chair ridden Laguna, were arranged around his bed as he slowly blinked open his eyes and looked around. Squall was on his feet quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing loose hair out of Irvine's face, smiling a wet, despairing smile. Irvine didn't like that smile; he grimaced and asked (with a voice that sounded like he'd just chain-smoked five cartoons and then given someone a blow job), "Okay, honestly. Will the ladies ever love me again?"

"You're a jackass," Squall growled, shaking his head and laughing thickly. "But, god . . . you're alive."

"What _happened_?"

"You don't remember?" Laguna asked. He sounded like he hadn't slept in about a month; or maybe he'd just been up, listening to Squall fret endlessly for long enough that it was about the same amount of stress. Irvine shook his head slowly, looking around at the three older men.

It was, surprisingly enough, Laguna who told him in a calm and even voice: there had, indeed, been insurgents on the train, just as they'd suspected. They had not hijacked the train or threatened to derail it. Simply, they had stood at the head of each passenger car, and had revealed that they were carrying bombs on their person.

The SeeDs had managed to get the passengers pretty calmed down, and a couple of the insurgents were even 'disarmed' (Irvine heard that as 'killed') without their bombs going off.

But two or three of the bombers, they hadn't been knocked out. They had blown their bombs.

"How many are dead?" Irvine asked hoarsely, already dreading the noise. Some of them would be SeeDs. Most of them would be innocent civilians. It was the sort of movement that sparked civil wars; Irvine, in childhood, had heard of such an act releasing Trabia from Galbadia's domination.

Laguna couldn't say, literally. He looked desperately to Kiros, who sighed, and continued on, explaining that, because the attack had been staged in the forest, it was hard to tell the exact number of casualties. Monsters had gotten some of the people. Those closest to the bombs would have been instantly torn asunder or incinerated.

They did know that six of them were SeeDs. The others hadn't been identified in the rubble.

That was three weeks ago, and they _still_ couldn't find most of the bodies to be sent to family for proper burial.

"And . . . Selphie?"

He knew before the words had left his mouth.

He knew, he knew, he _knew_.

He was alive, because he had been stupid and had gone off for selfish reasons. The other SeeDs were dead. Selphie was—.

* * *

Quistis said, when they returned to Balamb, "This is our line of work. Our duty. Each and every one of us knows that we won't live very long. Selphie knew, going in, that she could have died. You know that." But that didn't erase the ache.

Zell said, in an attempt to be consoling, "She was lucky. Close enough to die fast, but far enough away that we could retrieve her remains and ID her." But that just made Irvine sick.

Squall said nothing. He didn't trust Irvine to be alone, though—or at least that was what he told Irvine and everybody who asked when he had Irvine's things moved into his apartments. They didn't speak of it. Irvine didn't speak of much of anything.

No more Selphie to commiserate horrible students with. No more Selphie for warm, soft hugs and genuine advise on things that she should, with every right, have been trying to sabotage. No more late night binge drinking and strip malls in Deling City and laughing about stupid stuff when the world just didn't seem to go the right way.

"I want you to talk with Kadowaki," Squall told him one night. "She's . . . good with this sort of thing."

"I don't need to talk to anybody," Irvine assured, trying to smile, as he crawled atop Squall's prostrate form and then kissed him with a hungry determination. "I'm fine."

So Squall didn't talk about it.

But their were dreams, and days when Irvine just couldn't seem to crawl out of bed and face the day. When he'd been like this, as a child in Galbadia Garden, it had meant he had weeks on end of detentions (until Martine decided discipline was not the answer with Irvine); now, there was nothing to distract him from the dreams of death.

And it was so stupid, that he was alive and the other fourteen were dead. It didn't make any sense. He should have been with them, scouring the train and _looking_ for those men with those bombs (and he wondered how nobody caught them when they got on; bombs were bulky).

"I shouldn't be crying about this," he told Squall one very early morning, staring blindly at the ceiling and wondering why he couldn't sleep; he was exhausted. "I mean, I didn't cry when Mom died."

"Selphie wasn't your mother," Squall murmured into his pillow.

"But I—." _I'm a soldier. I'm a SeeD. So is she. We know we'll die before we're supposed to. Why can't I stop crying about it? Why is this any different than anybody else dying?_

It ached, like someone had taken a chunk out of his stomach and left him with this gaping hole. Like he had lost a piece of himself. He supposed, deeply, that he had.

One day, as he lazed about the nursed his afflicted soul, he thought that _this_ must be something very close to what Squall felt at most times. It was no wonder the brunette was always so distant and reclusive; to become close left you with that ache, and Irvine thought, perhaps, that the ache would never go away. Squall held himself so far off, and then when he did manage to mingle in, he grabbed a hold as hard as he could, horrified of letting go. Horrified of that ache.

That night, as Squall trudged in looking for all the world as if _he_ had just been blow to hell, Irvine looked up from his fingers and said in a stern, knowing voice, "I love you."

For a moment, Squall just stared at him. Then, he looked away, removing his uniform. There was silence, until Squall climbed onto the bed.

He wrapped his arms around Irvine's shoulders and straddled his legs, pulling the redhead close. Irvine clutched at Squall helplessly, eyes wide and slowly leaking tears. Squall didn't say anything for quite some time, before he pulled back and smiled very softly.

"I know." There was the silence there, packed with words: _I love you too_ and _I'm sorry_ and a million other things that tried to fill up the empty space in Irvine's heart, and nearly succeeded.

Squall was no Selphie. There would be no chipper energy and random hugs in the hallway, no heartfelt understanding of the difficulties of putting up with kids who didn't _really_ know what they were doing.

But it was a start at least.


	12. Epilogue

_**Final chapter! I'd like to thank everybody who read this for doing just that, and I hope you enjoyed the piece; I know I had fun writing it.**

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Whatever you do, do it warily, and take account of the end.

_—Unknown_

**Epilogue**

There were very few large ceremonies in Balamb Garden. SeeD and Instructor appointments were quiet, one-on-one affairs between the Commander, Headmaster and aforementioned student or SeeD, though the inaugural ball was always something grand and glorious. And it really was the only large 'ceremony' at Garden, besides the Garden Festival.

That night was no different. Seifer was down from Trabia for the event, and even Rinoa had showed up, dressed to the nines for the occasion. But Squall was stalling, as was his wont with these things, picking over his uniform and generally grumbling.

It had been a good semester, and though the exam had been _very_ difficult, forty students had been made SeeDs. They had also managed to finally put an end to the attempted coups in Esthar.

Irvine, watching Squall from the bathroom door, finally sighed and rolled his eyes. He tied his hair back, and stepped out of the bathroom to stand behind Squall at his mirror.

"You look fine," he said, kissing the brunette's temple and smoothing out his uniform jacket. The fabric was stiff and warm under his fingers. He sighed, and hugged his lover around the middle, smiling at his reflection. "Worried?"

"I hate the ball."

"We could jip out."

"Quistis would never let me here the end of it," Squall muttered, stepping away. Irvine made a sort of comic whip-crack noise at Squall's back, and got a deadening glare in return; he smiled at the brunette, and grabbed his jacket. "Besides, you _like_ this sort of thing."

"Bah." He laughed it off, sighing in a mocking sort of way as he did up his jacket front and straightened everything out accordingly. With another laugh, he struck a pose, asking dramatically, "Be honest. How many women do you think I can ravish with my looks tonight?"

"Do I count as a woman?" Squall asked frigidly. Irvine rolled his eyes.

"Of course not, goony bird." He flicked Squall in the ear, grabbed his hand, and dragged him out of the apartments.

"Oh. In that case . . ." Squall looked thoughtful for a moment, before finally deducing. "None."

"Are you calling me ugly?" Squall shook his head, rolling his eyes a little. Irvine smiled winningly. "Okay, let's say you count as a woman. Then how many?"

"Still none."

Irvine gaped. Squall gave a wonderful smile, and stepped onto the elevator, pulling the stunned redhead after him.

With laughter in his eyes, he pushed Irvine against the wall and kissed him hungrily. Irvine made a pleased little noise, grabbing Squall's waist and thinking only for a moment that the walls of the elevator were perfectly transparent—it was hard to to stay worried and all when you had someone like _Squall_ trying to get intimate with your tonsils.

Five minutes later, they entered the ball room, just as a waltz was beginning to strike up. Rinoa, who had been loitering off with a few SeeDs she knew, spotted them and waved, hurrying over.

She smiled, nodding politely to them both. Then, very suddenly, she turned to Squall, looking him square in the eye and waving her fingers just in front of his nose, chatting methodically, "You are going to like me, you are going to like me, you are going to like me."

Squall snorted on laughter. She smiled, winking a little.

"Did it work?"

"I can't dance," Squall said easily. She rolled her eyes, and grabbed his hand. "Rinoa—."

"You say that _every_ year. And every year you can. Now come on; I have to make your boyfriend jealous." She winked at Irvine then, blowing him a kiss as she dragged Squall out onto the dance floor.

They looked good out there together, twirling and flowing with the music. Their lips moved in quiet words to each other as they danced; some times, Rinoa would laugh that wonderful laugh of hers. Irvine couldn't help but smile; they looked _happy_. And he knew, now, that it wasn't simply because _they_ were out there together.

"So. You and the Ice Princess."

Irvine peered over his shoulder at Seifer. Over his uniform, he wore his long white coat; he had his arms folded over his wide chest.

"Yeah. Where have you been?"

"Not on your call list, Cowboy." He nudged Irvine in the ribs, shaking his head a little. "Honestly. You need to keep me updated on these things."

"Well, you could always teach _here_. Then you could get the juicy gossip from the students, just like everybody else." Seifer hummed over that idea, watching Squall and Rinoa dance as well.

After a moment of silence, Irvine suddenly laughed and turned to face Seifer. He struck his dramatic pose, and asked in a sultry voice, "Be honest. Are you _ravaged_ by my sexiness?"

"Dumbfounded, maybe." Irvine rolled his eyes, sulking a little and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Selphie would be appropriately ravaged by my looks."

"Probably."

They didn't say anything else about it. Squall and Rinoa returned, and Rinoa took the chance to drag Seifer off for a dance around the floor as well, leaving Squall with Irvine to each other.

"They're together now, Seifer and Rinoa," Squall reported into the dull quiet between them. Irvine laughed a little.

"You two switched." Squall cocked a brow, and Irvine just waved it off. "I'll tell you later. Are you having fun yet?"

"I've been here five minutes." Irvine smiled softly, taking Squall's hand gently.

"We should mingle or something. Talk with the new SeeDs and everything, right?" But Squall remained immobile. He tugged back on Irvine's hold, pulling him close. But instead of meeting the redhead's eyes, he was looking up at the high, arched windows; Irvine followed his gaze, just as a shooting star streaked across the night sky.

"They always seem to show up when things are about to get really interesting for me," Squall mused softly. He looked back, offering a small smile to Irvine. The redhead smiled back, kissing his lover gently.

"I think five minutes is good enough," he chided evenly.

Eight years earlier, it had been Rinoa to slip silently away with Squall after a quick night of revelry, and Selphie to slip off with Irvine. But Irvine didn't think of that. He thought of the cool palm against his, of the quiet sort of smile on Squall's lips, and of the shooting star that had streaked in the night sky.

Maybe the future would be interesting.


End file.
